


A Bright  Pair of Eyes

by ProfessorDrarry



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anxiety, Aurors, Career Change, Children, Depression, Duelling, Established Relationship, HEA, Hurt/Comfort, It All Ends Well, M/M, Marriage, Panic Attacks, St Mungo's Hospital
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-15
Updated: 2016-11-15
Packaged: 2018-08-31 06:49:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 39,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8568406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProfessorDrarry/pseuds/ProfessorDrarry
Summary: you're just bones and a beating heart and a pair of bright eyes, how did you fuck me up so bad? Harry fought in a war. And Draco knows that he did. But what if the knowing is not enough to save each other? What if Harry is simply too broken to be saved?Harry/Draco





	1. A Bright Pair of Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by the random, floating, internet quote below. I wish I could find the author because I hate floating quotes. Alas, I can't seem to source it. If anyone knows, and can tell me, they will win smutty Draco for life! As usual, characters not mine etc. etc.
> 
> WARNING: I never, EVER do this, but future chapters have a trigger warning. Harry isn't doing so great in this fic, and I'm not going to shy away from it. This warning is for suicidal references, potential violence, and obvious anxiety (which starts in this chapter). Warning given, proceed at will.

You're just bones

and a beating heart

and a pair of bright eyes,

_how did you fuck me up so bad?_

* * *

 

He was staring again. He gave his head a small shake and tried to look back with interest at Kingsley, attempting to refocus on what the minister was saying. After all that had been his promise, at the beginning of the end. That they would be able to work together. He was pretty sure that working together did not include staring during meetings. It would not involve watching for the familiar small adjustments in the set of a jaw, the changes in the crinkle of eyes when he thought something was stupid, the unconscious brush of a hand against silvery blond hair, pushing it back himself as Harry had once done in hasty heat- it was getting too long, it needed a trim. These things that he noticed were not something he was allowed to be doing anymore. They were not part of the amicable co-worker pact he had agreed to.

He sighed, forgetting he was mid meeting, but to his fortune, Kingsley met his eyes and simply said, "Harry is right. We're talking in circles. Let's break now and reconvene tomorrow instead. In the meantime...Let's see. Andrew, can you see if you can get that paperwork filed? And Draco, I trust you are still looking into the appointment of a new liaison?"

Draco nodded, still looking decidedly at the table rather than his co-workers. Kingsley handed out tasks to a few more people then dismissed them, but Draco seemed to vanish the second the meeting ended. Harry just caught sight of him ducking out of the room.

"Alright, Potter? You said you needed to speak to me?"

"Er, yes," Harry nodded, glancing around to check that the room had fully emptied. "I wonder if we might discuss... A shift. In my appointment. I, er, miss the field."

Kingsley gazed down at him appraisingly, but nodded shortly, replying, "Yes, I've been expecting that. I can move you, but the field? Really? I seem to recall a desperate plea to have a desk job, less than a year ago. I could put you in a different office, perhaps?"

Harry shook his head, "Please, Kingsley. It isn't what you think. I miss the action. I... This was never what I wanted."

He tried not to let the bitterness he felt edge into his voice, but he suspected he had failed, given Kingsley's short intake of breath and muttered, "ah, I see."

By the end of the day, he had a new assignment, a new partner - a new young recruit whose voice reminded him unpleasantly of Winky's, but who was otherwise tolerable - and a rotation of surveillance in Hogsmeade. He hadn't lied to Kingsley, really. He had been missing the action of the field. He had just failed to remember how boring it really was. He'd forgotten how much of his time was actually spent sitting uncomfortably in cold and dark places, waiting for something to happen. He had forgotten how much time he was going to have with his own thoughts.

It was right around this time that he had decided sleeping potions were his only real option if he planned to continue to survive. He spent most nights avoiding going to bed, dozing unhappily on the couch until he conceded the point and most often, slept in the guest room. It wasn't free of memory, the way they had used the house, but at least it had rarely been seen for sleep alone.

"Harry," Ginny began for the fifteenth time. "Have you still not heard me? Merlin, you're really not doing well, hey? Ron said, but then he always exaggerates everything, especially when it comes to you, or Hermione, or the kids."

"I'm fine," he muttered in response. But he heard his own voice, sounding nothing like himself. And even he didn't believe the words. He felt her gentle hand on his cheek, her knuckle brushing the dark circles beneath his eyes and tisking quietly.

"How many nights a week are you taking that stuff?"

He blurted a short, dark sound, which may have been construed as a laugh if the world had well and truly gone to shit.

"Oh," replied Ginny. "Would you consider... You know, back on the horse and all that?"

Harry just looked at her and took a swig of his whiskey.

"Right. Okay. So not yet. Well, fine, but I'm not going to sit around and watch you become some sort of strung out potion addict because of a boy. You'd never allow it of me."

He smiled a very small smile at this. She was right. He wouldn't. He wasn't sure what she planned to do, but he would let her. He was well aware that he was fucked no matter what, so there was no point in worrying his friends further by refusing to accept their help.

Confusingly, Ginny's plan seemed to be an annoyingly regular presence in his life, by making small, bizarre requests for help. From mundane tasks she could obviously have done herself to trips to places she'd normally go alone. She would show up at the house requesting company while she went to the bank, or help babysitting Rose and baby Hugo, or to be her buddy on adventures into muggle London.

At first, he was exhausted every time she left him alone again. Emotional pain would throw itself back on him as soon as he Apparated home, since he'd been robbed of his wallowing time and his despondency for the day, he would take it late into the evening before passing out wherever he was from pure exhaustion.

Eventually, though, these things turned into a routine. He would work forever during the week, only leaving early when he had dinner plans with Nev and Luna, or when Hermione insisted he come over for movie nights with the kids. On the weekends, Ginny would fill his time; he wasn't sure how she was convincing the relatively new boyfriend that this was okay, but Ginny wasn't generally one to be trifled with once she had decided on something.

He cobbled out a new sort of life for himself, a new normal, where he sometimes managed to stop his mind from going over and over the endless litany of things he'd messed up. Where occasionally, he laughed. He got it to a point where Rose stopped fake whispering 'what's wrong with uncle Harry?' because he managed to be silly and fun with her again.

For two months, this all worked quite well. Then Ginny had decided she wanted to go grocery shopping on Saturday. He hated the shops on Saturday, but she, as usual, had talked him into coming by using mostly pointed glares over actual words. In another time, he'd have risked being punched for the chance to tell her how much like her mum she was.

They wandered the aisles, with Harry only half listening to her week's stories and pushing the trolley, leaning heavily and trying to stay awake. Last night had not been a particularly good one in terms of sleep, and he was sure he looked exhausted.

That is when it happened.

He turned a corner while he waited for Ginny to choose a brand of crumpet, and ran almost straight into them. He was laughing that lighthearted laugh that made Harry's heart leap appreciatively, touching the arm of a very tall, relatively handsome bloke who was smiling and continuing a story he was midway through.

When Draco finally looked up at the barrier, his lips formed a comically slow 'oh', before he nonchalantly withdrew his arm as though it wasn't far too late for that action.

He didn't speak directly to Harry. He nodded at him vaguely, but didn't look him in the eye as he turned to the tall man.

"Sorry. Er, Ed, this is Harry, my... "

Ed's face opened in surprise and, in the back of his awareness, Harry heard him start exclaiming things about his identity as Harry Potter, but he wasn't listening. He was boring a hole in the side of Draco's head, silently screaming.

 _Your what_ , his brain demanded. _Your what? Ex? Friend? Acquaintance? Co-worker? Latest victim?_

He desperately needed to hear how Draco categorised him now, in the after. But it was clear that Draco did not plan on finishing his words. He was smiling a fake grin, listening to 'Ed', trying to delicately extract himself from the situation. Harry made it easier for him and fled, leaving the cart behind, just as Ginny came round the corner, visibly balking at the scene before her.

By the time he reached the outside of the shop, he was barely breathing, the hyperventilating having started again. He was stuck; he wanted to run, to fly, and yet his body was unable to move. He clawed at the collar of his coat, dragging it away from his body until his neck was bare, and ripped his hands through his hair, trying to slow his breathing. Suddenly, Ginny was in front of him, directing him to sit on a bench, crouching at his feet, muttering soothing sounds until his gasps subsided a bit and he could actually see her.

"Oh Harry. You've GOT to tell me what happened. You have to..."


	2. If We Press Rewind, Just One More Time

The snippets of memory that interrupted his sleep were always the same, a persistent reel of happy moments, clouded by fights, anger, and true fear. But to explain, to tell anyone what happened, he had to go back. Right back. All the way to the beginning. Before everything. Three years ago seemed like a lifetime when he tried to sum it up.

He did not come out of this story sounding good. He knew it. Largely because, in the beginning, he had only intended to do one thing; sleep with Draco Malfoy.

Now, this wasn't exactly something that was in his character, and were he a more vindictive man, he might be tempted to blame the whole thing on Ron. He should have known better from the start. As much as he loved Ron, respected him for a great many things, relationship advice was one thing that he probably should have gotten from another source. And advice about how to improve his emotional turmoil? Definitely not Ronald Weasley. But when, way back when, Ron had said the simple phrase, 'you know what you need? Just fun. Nothing more exciting. Nothing permanent. Just _fun._ '

It had seemed, at the time, like the answer.

They were six months out of Auror training. They had not been given anything more taxing than Secrecy Act infractions, and most of the time, the job was turning out to involve sitting in an on-call room, shooting the shit and drinking way too much coffee with their fellow first year officers. At 23, it probably should have been fun, but it was driving Harry mental.

Having spent the past five years either travelling with his friends, rebuilding Hogwarts, or suffering the intensity of Auror training, he was used to being busy. So busy, in fact, that he hadn't had to address any of the nightmares that occasionally woke him up. He'd been able to ignore the random moments of fear and panic so deep he would have to go and hide somewhere until they passed. He'd gotten so good at ignoring them that he doubted if anyone but Ron had noticed. The last two guys he'd dated hadn't clued in for a good long while.

Now, though, the sitting and the waiting were starting to get to him. He was always restless, and the fact that his body wasn't physically exhausted at the end of each day meant that the nightmares were back in full force. Nightly, Voldemort killed Dumbledore, only to turn around and kill everyone he'd ever known in one sweeping arc. He'd wake screaming, in a cold sweat, having to talk himself back down.

Then he would get angry at himself; Voldemort was gone. _He_ was the reason Voldemort was gone, for Merlin's sake. Allowing himself to still be afraid meant that the evil won. Voldemort would have liked nothing more than to know that he was still feared, even after his death. So Harry would be angry that he was allowing these thoughts into his subconscious, and consequently feel like he couldn't confide in anyone. It was lonely, and it was tiring.

Queue Ron, believing that Harry's restlessness was boredom, to suggest a conquest, his favourite way of living through Harry without getting in trouble with his now-wife; far from being shocked that Harry was less picky than most about the gender of those he slept with, Ron had taken it as an opportunity to set him up with as many people as possible.

Like a terrible play where you can already see the ending _, Enter DRACO MALFOY_. Harry could still clearly remember the conversation from that day. As they sat around trading Quidditch magazines over another cuppa, Ron looked up to see a blond, smiling head wander into the room to fill his own mug. Malfoy. Older and yet unchanged, leaner and even more sophisticated, but lacking the youthful sneer that had so easily landed on his face.

Favouring slight scruff and long bangs, Harry had to admit he was fitter than he remembered him being in school. It was intriguing. He didn't see him that often, since his position in the incarceration department rarely required him to leave his office. Still, even in these brief, rare moments, Harry had noticed him. And, apparently, Ron had noticed him noticing.

"You know what would be hilarious," Ron began, looking back and forth between Harry and the coffee pot with ever increasing interest. "And _FUN_?"

"Ron, whatever you are about to suggest, it isn't happening. Even your eyebrows are untrustworthy right now."

"No, hear me out. It'll just be a laugh. You should try and…erm…seduce Malfoy."

"Ron. Not funny."

"Maybe not, but you are always looking at him like he's a piece of treacle tart," Ron shrugged. "And I said 'fun' not 'undying romance'. What could be more fun than toying with a former enemy for your own gain?"

"Ron, 'enemy'? Really. We were children."

"And now," said Ron suggestively. "We are _not._ "

He should have listened to his gut and ignored Ron's random ramblings. He might have, had Malfoy not chosen that exact moment in time to turn, and eye him carefully with steely, storm-coloured eyes. The gaze was neither appreciative or scathing, but it was there, and that was somehow worse. That gaze forced Harry into action. Right that moment.

He stood and grabbed his almost empty cup and wandered over to the coffee pot.

"Mr. Malfoy."

"Potter."

"Having a good Wednesday so far?"

"Er, I…can't complain."

"Good."

He could have left it at that, but instead, having filled his cup, Harry leaned back against the counter, turning to face Malfoy who had turned back around to address Harry. Malfoy quirked an eyebrow in question. Harry didn't reply for a moment, but for some reason, Malfoy also stayed rooted to the spot.

"I like your robes," Harry said, taking a careful, calculated sip, but not breaking eye contact.

"Standard issue for enforcement, Potter. You know that. What, are you mocking me?"

"No, no…I just…you're lucky the colour suits you," Harry pushed off the counter and walked back to the table where Ron was pretending not to watch. He felt, rather than heard, the shocked sputter from Malfoy, but by the time he got back to the table, the blond was gone.

"Phew. This is going to be tough," Harry said quietly to Ron.

"I'll give you a Galleon if you can convince him to go out with you by the end of the month."

Harry laughed, for what felt like the first time in ages, saying "You're on."

* * *

Randomly placing compliments on an individual who you never see, and more importantly, who does not trust you, is not enough to convince them to go out with you. Harry had to get craftier. For the rest of the week, he found reasons to go down to Magical Law Enforcement and Containment; sometimes, he hand delivered memos that would have been sent by charm. Sometimes, he pretended to be inquiring about a former case. Once, he brought the entire department coffee. That act was the end of the careful, guarded watching by Malfoy. As Harry tried to leave, walking back to the lift, Malfoy grabbed his arm and whirled him around.

"What are you doing, Potter? What have I done to warrant observation?" Malloy sounded angry. "It's been six months, and you've managed to ignore me until now. I was apparently stupid to believe we were going to put childish schemes behind us."

Harry looked down at Malfoy's hand on his arm, intrigued by the instant fire that he felt there. It was weird to feel attracted to someone you barely knew. Harry had always felt strange about physical chemistry, like it didn't belong there and would get him in trouble. Course, many times (like his disastrous dalliance with Cho), it had. Now though, he felt his face flush slightly and pleasantly, and he almost felt like thanking Ron. Still, he had a goal. He had to focus.

"You are right, Malfoy. I should stop with the schemes. If you must know, I've been trying to come up with any excuse to talk to you."

"What? Why? I haven't done anything. Whatever it is you've decided I am responsible for, you can let it go. I've been in this job since before you had a Ministry key card. I've paid my dues."

This sentence gave Harry pause. Of course Malfoy would think that he was trying to catch him out at something; that had always been the nature of their relationship. He frowned. This really was a colossally bad idea, whatever _this_ was.

"Malfoy, I can assure you that I know you are up to anything. My boss is always singing your praises; apparently, you champion even the most hopeless of cases? Make sure they get a fair sentence? By all accounts, you are very good at your job."

"Then why the hell do you keep coming _down_ here!? I demand an explanation."

"Well," began Harry, weighing the possible consequences of his next sentence. "Draco…you do look _very good_ in those ministry robes."

He had unintentionally dropped the level of his voice, and that combined with the words forced Malfoy to drop his hand in surprise. Harry wisely walked away and went back to his floor. These things took time.

He had been successful, however. Three days into his conquest, and he had turned the tables. Suddenly, Malfoy seemed to be around more often than before. He was eating in the common areas, he appeared for interdepartmental meetings that he had previously skipped, and he came to morning roster, which he didn't technically have to do. And, he was _watching_ Harry. He really was quite gorgeous, and Harry was completely fine with making him slightly frazzled by returning his confused gaze. For a few days. Almost a week, really. Harry ignored him for what felt like ages.

Then, for lack of a better word, he may have pounced. One day, after roster, Harry followed Malfoy out of the conference room and quietly got into the lift behind him. When he noticed, Malfoy gave an adorable small jump of surprise that made Harry grin. For a moment, Harry just focused on appearing non-plussed; he folded his arms and leaned against the wall of the lift.

"Malfoy."

"Potter. Merlin, stop. Just…leave it."

"I don't know that I've done much of anything, really. Although, the Aurors are seeing much more of _you_ lately."

Malfoy didn't seem to have a reply to that, but moved himself even further toward the other wall of the lift, shoving his hands in the pockets of his robes and not meeting Harry's eyes.

"What do you want, Potter?"

"Go out with me," he replied in a less than dignified rush. 

"I- what…what do you mean?"

"Oh you know, a drink- a meal if we are adventurous?" Harry pressed on. "A walk, even. Somewhere other than the Ministry. You. Me."

Malfoy finally looked at him, mouth open slightly, "Merlin, you _have_ to be kidding me. You are Harry fucking Potter. I, in case you have forgotten, am Draco fucking Malfoy. You do not want to go out with me to eat food or go for a walk."

"Well, strictly, no," said Harry, shrugging his shoulders. "I'd rather just take you home and, er, jump your bones. But society has taught me that most people aren't huge fans of that. I'm completely cool with it if you are."

That got Malfoy; his hands left his pockets to rifle his hair, and he let out an embarrassed and exasperated sigh, shaking his head vigorously.

"Come on, one date. I'd like to hear about your work…what you've been up to. You don't talk to me now as it is, so there's nothing to ruin if it's awful."

" _When_ it's awful. You hate me, remember? Besides. How do you even…you don't even know that I…"

"What? Date blokes? Guess you're right, actually. Wait!" Harry said, suddenly realizing something, letting his arms fall and standing straight up dramatically. "I don't know that you've dated _anyone_ …"

Malfoy looked indignant, "I have."

"Do tell."

"You'll at least have to buy me a drink before I tell you that story."

"So I can buy you a drink, then?"

Malfoy paused, looking cornered. He didn't speak again until the lift opened, announcing its arrival at his office.

"Fine," he said angrily. "But I swear to god Potter, if this is some sort of plot, I will gladly lose my job in order to properly curse you."

"Sounds fair. Tomorrow?"

Malfoy simply nodded as the lift closed.

* * *

 

They had gone for drinks in Muggle London, at Harry's insistence because he still got recognized most wizarding places, and he wasn't interested in an autograph filled evening. Surprisingly, Malfoy looked slightly sympathetic when he had explained this.

"Must be annoying," he had said. "Being constantly reminded of that day, by people treating you a hero."

Harry, ridiculously, had felt very emotional at this statement. He had never been able to explain it to Ron and Hermione so succinctly.

The evening had been pleasant, although not overly date-like. Malfoy, it turned out, was actually quite funny, if in an acerbic sort of way. It was like he had taken all the meanness and bullying of his youth and channelled it into observational wit and self-deprecating humour. As he described his time since school, he seemed content, and not at all like the person Harry had vaguely known at school. It was surprising. More interesting by far, though, was how attentively Malfoy listened to Harry as he returned stories of the past six years. He described his travel, and the training, and his final end in the career he'd always wanted.

"Forgive me, Potter, but you realize you don't actually seem all that…"

"Happy?"

"Hm."

"Well, it's not really what I was expecting."

"All the first-years say that. I've seen five groups of you go through, remember. And you're all the same, saying it's boring. Did you think they were going to let you handle serial killers on your first day?"

Harry smiled, took a sip, and shrugged, "Kind of, yeah."

And that had earned him his first, real, unreserved Draco Malfoy laugh. It was rich, and full, and required all of his faculties to listen attentively. He was instantly hooked. Malfoy took his last swig, and stood up, shouldering his coat in that dignified way that Harry thought only people in films pulled off.

"Well, thanks for the drink, Potter. It wasn't altogether unpleasant."

"Harry," he replied, sticking out his hand.

"Draco," Malfoy said after a beat, offering his own hand hesitatingly. "We should…I mean, we could. If you want. Dinner, another time maybe?"

"Er, depends. Draco, um, why did you say yes?"

"Sheer curiosity, Potter. Curiosity is a powerful thing. I had to know."

"Know what?"

"If there was an actual human behind those frigging green eyes. Till next time, _Harry._ "

That was it. That one night had started a train of similar nights, with a weird, over-toned friendship which eventually led to dinner, and a walk to see the deer that Draco had never seen, and coffee by the Thames one Wednesday. It was strange actually getting to know Malfoy, strange but in a good way. Harry felt oddly lighter, and there was a similar thing going on in Malfoy. There were slight, infinitesimally small changes in how reserved he was around Harry. Far from refusing to look Harry in the eye, he now regularly spoke to Harry at work, asked his opinion on cases, and was just generally less a closed off robot. Initially, the openness had freaked Ron out; Draco would wander over to their table at lunch time, say something observational or poignant, and then walk away with a hurried, 'see you later, right?' to Harry. After nearly a month though, Ron and Draco were actually pretty close to civility, and Harry marvelled at the brave new world he seemed to have created inadvertently.

For all these changes, however, Harry had still not actually completed his task; he still had not slept with Draco Malfoy. Largely because Harry was often left wondering what bell Draco had heard that had made him decide it was time to leave. Malfoy always left on his terms, and therefore, Harry never had the chance to stop the disappearing act he obviously had perfected. He wanted to stop him, to freeze Draco with the physical contact his body was now screaming for. As much as their conversations had opened up, that first touch on Harry's arm by the lift was the most Draco had allowed since, and he wasn't sure he could stand it much longer. Still, something gave him pause. Something made Harry leave it alone.

Until one day, when Harry thought he might explode, about five adventures into their weird changing, blossoming friendship.

Harry had agreed to go to Moretecue- a small, wizard-only seaside town, just for the afternoon. It had been pleasant and weird, and vaguely exciting. It was fascinating to see Malfoy in his element, strolling and pausing to show Harry some random thing, enjoying the warm breeze. They were just idly chatting and wandering the high street, when the wind lifted Draco's bangs suddenly and flopped them over; it was the most dishevelled Harry had ever seen him, and it took him by surprise, the force of the attraction. The heat and the curled thread of approval in the pit of his stomach was back again.

He had stopped dead in his tracks, grabbed Draco by the hand, drew him close, and kissed him soundly. After a small moment of sheer panic, Draco had decided worse things could be happening, and kissed back. One step taken, and the flood gates of their obvious physical desire for each other well and truly opened. The way Harry remembered it, they had barely made it back to the flat before being arrested for public indecency. They may have had no idea what they were doing, may have been mismatched and confusing from the outside, but as Draco dragged Harry's name from kiss-swollen lips at the heat of climax, Harry decided that they could sort the rest out later.

And that was it. The rest, as they say, is history.

* * *

 

"Only kidding," said Harry, as Ginny shot him a look of dismay. "That was the beginning though...only the beginning. You needed to know, you spent that whole year on the road."

She gestured over her cup of tea, begging him to go on, explain the rest. The things she actually wanted to hear. She was, just as most people would be, waiting for the ship to sink. Waiting for the sound of the explosion.

 _Wouldn't it be nice though,_ thought Harry, sighing. _Wouldn't it be nice if the rest were fairy tale and happily ever after, and history._

But, as the old song goes, the night is only half the day.

* * *

 

The play is not done

Oh, no, not quite

For life never ends

In the moonlit night.

And despite what pretty poets say

The night is only half the day.

\- _The Fantasticks,_ Schmidt and Jones


	3. It Started Out as a Feeling, Which Then Grew into a Hope

"We never really had the conversation after that, about, you know, us. Before I knew it, we just were, and then, all of a sudden, six months had flown by and I had been an Auror for a year."

"I know we all thought it was a little unhealthy," Ginny said softly. "How close you were, so quickly."

Harry sighed, remembering the struggle.

It had been a bit intense, and he understood where his friends had been coming from, although he'd been angry at the time. He understood now what they saw, how they viewed it; from their end, a boy he had never gotten along with was suddenly the sole occupier of his time. But Draco and Harry quickly became inseparable, never questioning the sudden connection. Harry reasoned that since everything between them had always been irrationally intense, it made perfect sense that this would be the same. It was hard to explain that to people who had only known Draco as cartoonishly evil, the cause of all annoyance for six years, the source of real concern for the final year that mattered. But, Harry couldn't rectify that with the man who stood before him now, all soft edges and whispered jokes and vulnerable affection.

That was really the problem; his friends were on the outside. They didn't know his Draco, the new one. Sure, he was attractive, and Harry refused to discount that, but his friends didn't know the things he knew about new Draco. They didn't get to see his giddy excitement about going to muggle films. They didn't see him embarrassed because he was slightly drunk and far more prone to stumbling. They didn't know that when he drank, he became annoyed with himself for losing his ever present control, while at the same time, was so affectionate and emboldened that Harry spent most of the time they were in a pub slightly breathless. From the outside, no one would know what it felt like to break down steely composure from the blond with soft words and compliments, only to be rewarded with a rare, hard-earned, public display of affection. How making Draco laugh was not easy, but that learning what worked was worth the effort.

They didn't know that once Draco was in his bed more often than not, the nightmares immediately disappeared.

The anniversary of he and Ron's first year on the force had prompted Hermione to throw a party, just a small one. It was Harry's favourite memory of the relationship; he was pretty sure it was the moment where he managed to move Draco from outside to family in the minds of his closest people. It hadn't been a big bash, just the four of them, Neville and Luna, and Humphrey and McLennan from their training class. Hermione had charmed a banner reading "No More Rookies" to dance around the walls of the room, and Ron had made his signature "GFL"- which, as they explained to Draco, shouldn't really keep getting called a 'giant fucking lasagna' now that Rose was starting to question what the acronym really meant.

They were all joking, they were all laughing, and Draco was definitely on point, relaxed and sophisticated, sitting in his complicated trousers and Harry's favourite soft blue jumper (which had likely cost more than his entire wardrobe), a glass of wine twirling gently in his hands as he told the story of his first case to Neville. Harry was completely enamoured. He could do nothing but stare in awe at how Draco held a room.

"So, when I finally got the ostrich out of the cell, and the prisoners out of the trench, I'm expecting to be in huge shit with Montgomery. But he just looks at me and says, straight faced, 'Make sure you file a C-450,'" Draco finished.

The entire room erupted in laughter, and Draco grinned into his wine glass, eyeing Harry and begging him silently to come sit down. When Harry was settled beside him, Draco glanced over and subtly shuffled his leg into contact with Harry's thigh, forcing him to smile back.

"It's all going to change now, you realize," Draco said gravely. "Are you all ready? Montgomery is disturbingly predictable for a Head Auror. One year is all you get to be babysat. The real cases will start pouring in now. No more Cannons Today or exploding snap in the break room."

"Thank bloody Merlin," shouted Ron from the kitchen where he was washing up. They all laughed again, and Draco smiled, but watched Harry closely out of the corner of his eye.

The rest of the night had been wonderful, and Hermione had hugged Draco tightly as they left, murmuring, 'you are welcome any time you know. If you can manage to force Harry out of his voluntary isolation, bring him along'. Harry knew, then, that Draco had won. He had convinced them that he was not his eleven year old self anymore; he was worthy of Neville's affection, and Hermione's concern, and Ron's firm nod as they left.

Worthy of Harry's love.

The word slammed into his chest as they Apparated, and made him panic slightly. He had never told someone he loved them. He wasn't aware that it was a thing he was hesitant to do, but in that moment, he had realized that he was terrified. He choked it down and ignored the inclination. Now was not the time.

"Harry," Draco said as they got into his bed. "Are you actually ready? I'm not kidding, the work is going to get much trickier from now on. Do you….was your training…"

"You know, D, you sound suspiciously like you are worried right now," Harry said, pulling Draco to him and nibbling his ear, an act that always elicited Harry's favourite sounds in the world.

"I am a little bit, frankly. It's not that I don't trust you, but…"

"Draco, it's going to be fine. Aurors are very well trained, and I think, out of everyone, Ron and I have proved ourselves capable."

Draco sighed and wrapped his arms around Harry, pulling him even closer to whisper, "I know, but please stop being a hero. I feel like I've just found you; I'm not ready to face losing you."

As usual, these intense moments of openly given vulnerability undid Harry, and he found he was unable to respond for the sake of devouring Draco's mouth, wrapping his entire being around the blond, and easing the worry away with carefully placed kisses, and mouths used for other, far more important tasks.

* * *

-

The time slipped past them as time does, but things did not become less intense. Eventually, Harry did manage to use the L word, although not first. They continued to explore the countryside with small leaps and bounds, something Harry had never envisioned enjoying again after the Horcrux hunt. Within the year, Draco moved into Harry's house. By the end of the summer, Draco's prophetic remarks about his career had started to come true; Harry was sent on more and more gruesome cases, with he and Ron's proficiency with solving things quickly fueling greater and greater confidence from Montgomery. Very soon, Potter/Weasley became the go-to team for cases with weird puzzles to solve, and Harry was so busy travelling across the country that he relished the moments where he got to go home.

All of this would have been perfect; it was Harry's dream life come to pass, and he should have been stupidly, deliriously happy. For the first three months of this increased work load, he had been. He reveled in the fact that he was trusted and good at this, triumphing over his younger self's doubts and hesitations. He loved coming home exhausted and hungry to find a whistling, soft-haired blond puttering about in the kitchen despite his insistence that he would not become Harry's '1950s housewife'. He'd been so grateful those first few weeks that he had often found inventive ways to reduce Draco to finishing meal prep in only his pants. Things were good.

Yet, in the back of his mind, Harry wondered. He wondered how long he could go before the nightmares came back. He wondered how long it would be before the panic returned. But, although he did wonder these things, it seemed too good, too safe, too right, in those first three months, to bother questioning when it would all collapse.

But collapse it did.

Near his birthday, in the middle of a heat wave, Harry and Ron were assigned a new case, one in Leeds. It had seemed quite simple, if a bit sad and gruesome. A double homicide, although it was possible another case was linked. He had thought nothing of it as he packed a bag, and neither had Draco, who had kissed him soundly and made him promise not to miss his own birthday party. He and Ron had set off full of nervous excitement, the usual mood before a new case. They were gone nearly two weeks.

When Harry apparated home a fortnight later, he had known already that something was wrong. Being away had not been good; he had spent the past three days unable to catch his breath, occasionally drifting into full blown panic. When he had Apparated away from the reports at the Ministry, he briefly wondered if he should go straight to St. Mungo's, but decided he was over reacting. After all, nothing had happened. He'd had no physical trauma. He was probably just tired and keyed up from the case. Instead, he had gone straight home, showered, then crawled into bed, even though it was barely half five in the evening. He curled into a tight ball, and didn't move. Even when he heard Draco floo in downstairs. Even when he bounded up the stairs and straight into bed, curling tightly around Harry's back.

He hadn't said anything then, had just whispered, "You realize it's a bit hot to be this close."

Draco had chuckled, pressing kisses to Harry's bare back, "Don't care. Missed you. Did you solve it?"

"Yes," Harry said softly.

The murders had been committed by a Death Eater. He bore the mark, and when they had arrested him, he had started shouting about the return of the 'old ways', about how the true believers would never truly die, about how he was just the first and that others would follow. At the time, Ron and Harry had simply shaken their heads and agreed he was a nutter, but that had been three days ago, and no matter what he did, Harry couldn't stop picturing the dark-haired man waving his forearm at him and threatening muggle-borns.

Plus, the nightmares were back, and his head hurt from lack of sleep. Even now, as he recounted all these snippets to Ginny, the memory made him shudder.

He remembered looking down at Draco's pale arm, finding the fading dark mark there. Initially he had winced, but then, he realised what it meant that Draco's mark was nearly invisible now. If Draco's mark was almost gone, then evil could not have returned. And Draco could not have any intention of returning to 'old ways'. Full of irrational relief, he had pulled the arm to his mouth and kissed it fiercely, nearly sobbing as panic left him. Of course, he had known that Draco wasn't actually a Death Eater. They had talked about their 17th year endlessly in the first month of their relationship- they had had to. Draco had admitted how scared he had been, how much he hated the marred skin on his forearm. That had been the last time Harry had kissed that skin, and the repeat of it now startled Draco into forcing Harry to turn around.

"When was the last time you ate, Potter? You look terrible," he had said.

"Gee, thanks."

"I'm serious. You are working too many cases. Take some time off next week. We'll go away….seaside maybe."

"Yeah, okay," Harry said, immediately warming to the idea. Multiple days of nothing but sea air, lapping waves, and a naked Draco in his bed sounded exactly like what he needed. He watched the blond putter by the closet for a moment, putting things away, getting ready for the morning before he went to make dinner. The whole thing was seeped in routine, and normalcy, and it made Harry's heart swell happily. He had just needed to come home. Everything would be okay, he thought. Everything will be fine now.

"Draco…"

"Mhmm?"

"I love you."

"I love you too, you great bumble. Although, we really must work on you sounding less terrified every time you say it."

"Ugh, I'm trying. Words are stupid."

"Eloquently put. You never could say what you meant."

"Yes, but I am excellent with actions…"

"What happened to it being too hot?"

Harry had laughed, dragging Draco by the belt buckle toward the bed, saying, "Might as well embrace the sticky."

* * *

 

The breaks, the small ones, were enough at first. They helped Harry sleep, which was honestly half the battle. If he slept, he didn't panic when he was awake.

Draco had tried so hard at first to help. He would hold onto Harry in the middle of the night, having woken up to wild thrashing or screams. He made potion after potion trying to find the right combination of dreamless sleep and calming draught. He insisted that Harry ask for cases closer to home, and when Montgomery reluctantly agreed, Harry made Ron take on a new partner so he could stay on the difficult cases, where he was good and necessary and needed.

The support was wonderful, and Harry desperately wanted it to be enough.

For three more months, he thought he had done a decent job of pretending things were fine. He hid in the bathroom when he had panic attacks at home, and slept in the guest room after Draco had gone to sleep when he sensed a bad night was coming. He stopped talking about work at home, and Draco seemed to appreciate the reduction in gruesome details of crime scenes. On the outside, his friends were fooled; Hermione regularly commented on how happy she was for he and Draco, how content Harry seemed all the time.

Their one year anniversary approached, and Harry surprised Draco with a trip to Spain, where they had eaten their weight in spicy, sultry food, frolicked for hours on white sand beaches, and fucked like teenagers for the better part of most too-hot afternoons. The break from reality had felt amazing; Harry slept soundly for the entire week, and his heart swelled at the lightness in Draco's face, which had been missing for months.

Near the end of their trip, they had been walking one cool, breezy evening down the beach. Mid-laugh, Draco had stopped dead and turned to face Harry.

"Hare, are you…Merlin, I've been avoiding this question for months now, but… Are you okay?"

"What? What do you mean?"

"You just seem different…not as carefree or something, as when we met. Is it work? The nightmares? I know you've had them a long time, but now they seem to be…"

"Worse," Harry finished. He instinctively moved closer to Draco, wrapping him in his arms, slotting hands into muggle jean pockets. He sighed. He had been waiting for this conversation. "I'm fine, Draco. It's just a bit stressful, this job, and I'm still learning. It's going to be okay."

"Are you sure? You would tell me, right? If you needed…help," Draco was speaking so quietly now that Harry almost didn't hear the last word at all.

"You are helping me, D. You really don't need to worry."

"I'm going to anyway. I'm a worrier. Besides, I didn't mean me. I meant, like, real help. Professional help. We could probably both use some, actually. I'm surprised the Ministry didn't make us all do mandatory counselling after the war. It only makes sense that you….well, you saw more than anyone, Harry. It's not a bad thing to say you need help."

Draco said this last sentence all in a rush, as though he had been avoiding it. Happy and well rested as he was, this entire conversation only resonated in Harry's brain as excessively adorable worry from his ever concerned boyfriend. He had kissed Draco's forehead, promised he would tell him if things got worse, and then dragged him bodily, kicking and screaming, into the surf. They finished their week gloriously, Draco shoving too many souvenirs for the kids into his carry-on, making Harry laugh, since he knew how delighted Rose would be.

Back home, though, the veneer started to crack more and more quickly. It was like Spain had accelerated his descent. Harry felt like he knew how much happier he could be, and now, he was unable to convince himself to pretend.


	4. The Moment You Realise the World is Ending

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: It's all going down in this chapter. Trigger warning. There is nothing super violent or graphic, but please proceed forewarned. I also promise the story does not end here, though I might take a small break before I post again. This story is taking a lot out of me.

As the months wore on, Harry got decidedly worse. He stopped trying to sleep at all, spending most nights wandering the house until passing out for an unrestful couple of hours of sleep. He stopped coming home from work at regular hours, preferring to be busy as long as possible. He took on case after case, offered to finish other people's paperwork, and when these things weren't enough, voluntarily filing by hand, a job no one in the Ministry ever did.

He got shorter and shorter with everyone, but mostly, with Draco. Their fights began a few weeks after Spain, and started escalating to the point where Harry would run out of things to say, and would fall silent for days. Draco would immediately feel guilty, and spend inordinate amounts of time trying to make it up to him. Which never worked, because, honestly, he hadn't started the fights in the first place; Harry had.

The thing that he wasn't telling anyone was of the buzz that was now almost constant behind his eyes. About the darkness that pressed down on him and made him feel like he couldn't move because the air was too thick. There were moments of panic, which he almost longed for now, because those were the moments where colours returned to their normal colour, or perhaps a little brighter even.

The moments where his vision tunnelled and his breathing quickened suddenly felt like the only moments where he was actually awake. The rest of the day, and most of the night, Harry spent moving back and forth between utter despair for all the mistakes he made, for all the mistakes he was still making, and complete fear of the future. How much longer could he fool Hermione and Ron? How much longer could he convince Draco to forgive him? How much longer would Montgomery not question his seventy hour work weeks?

But winter. Winter was where shit really hit the fan. January in London, Harry decided, was possibly the worst time and place to exist as he was, barely breathing, barely conscious most of the time. The outside seemed to be perfect pathetic fallacy; more days than not, a persistent cold drizzle bore down on them, the grey in the sky impenetrable by the weak, limp winter sun. By the time Harry got into work, it was still pitch dark. When he left, the darkness had returned. Daylight, when it did occur, was not something he saw.

Ron suddenly noticed.

"Harry, mate. What's up? You seem…ill. D'you need that number of the doctor at Mungo's I go to? He's excellent. Maybe he can sort some…dunno, vitamins, or something."

More to shut him up and allow his brain to continue its low, pounding beat, Harry took the number, and placed it on his fridge at home. He had actually decided part way through the day that he should call, but when he got home and sat at the kitchen table, his feet became leaden, and movement again became near impossible.

Thankfully, Draco chose this moment to arrive home; comically shocked to find Harry there, he walked past him to put the kettle on, running his hand through Harry's hair as he went. Harry tried not to wince. These casual touches- which had once been so welcome, a reminder that he was not alone- had started to grate on him and make him cringe. He felt like he was poison, affecting the air they both breathed, and he didn't want Draco to catch it.

"What's this, Hare? Are you going to go see someone?"

"Maybe," the shell of his former voice muttered, without looking up.

"Do you...do you want me to call?"

"Guess so."

And because he was Draco, call he did. Moreover, he finagled an appointment for the very next day, despite the fact that it was Saturday and last minute. He dragged Harry, almost by force, out of bed the next morning and into the Floo. Harry didn't even have the energy to protest the Floo, his least favourite form of travel. They arrived on the professional looking hearth of the oldest wizard Harry had ever seen. He had to be older than even Dumbledore had been, and his eyesight was clearly impossibly bad.

Harry sat in his usual fog, only occasionally nodding and making sounds of agreement as he let Draco speak for him. The ancient healer listened to his chest, shook his head, and then sat back down.

"Seasonal, I think, Mr. Potter. Going to give you some vitamins. And perhaps a new sleeping draught; I have one I am fond of, though it is quite strong. I think it may be just the ticket, though. Just have to be careful you don't use too much."

he remembered nodding.

"I'll only send you home with a small amount this time, so we can see if it works on those nightmares," the doctor continued.

"Pure exhaustion, that's what's wrong with you; and who could blame you, eh? Working hard as you have for so many years. I'd recommend you take a break, but I know what you Aurors are like. No sense of self-preservation. I won't waste my breath," he said, giving a short, wheezy laugh and scribbling something on a notepad.

For the first few weeks, the sleeping draught helped a little bit. Harry seemed to manage slightly longer bursts of sleep before he woke up in a panic. Draco seemed overly cheerful and hopeful, but then he supposed that was a sign of how bad things had really gotten. This small amount of hope was enough for Draco to grasp onto and cling to for dear life. They had sex again, which in and of itself was a little miraculous. He even let Draco persuade him to go out to dinner and a movie, his favourite 'muggle' date. Harry had laughed right along with Draco at the stupid comedy they ended up seeing, and a small amount of the humour seeped just past the fog.

But the sleeping potion was only slightly stronger than the ones Draco had made; soon, he was taking double the amount he should have. He ruefully smiled at himself in the mirror on the second time he had done this. _Classic,_ he thought. _An age old tale. Now you're what, an addict, too?_ Still. He had drunk the potion. And then convinced Draco to get him more.

They managed this way until the end of February; one Thursday evening, however, Draco came home with news. The wizard who had killed three others in the name of the Dark Lord had been granted a plea of insanity. He would live out the rest of his days in a facility in the North for incurable wizards. The same place, in fact, where Lucius Malfoy now resided.

"He isn't going to prison?" Harry had asked quietly, disbelief tempering his tone.

"Are you disappointed? He wasn't aware of what he was doing. He thought….he thought Voldemort was still alive. It's good, Harry; You caught him, and now he can't hurt anyone else."

But Harry had stood up and was backing out of the room. He was losing the ability to breath; he ran up the stairs to the bathroom. He'd vomited and collapsed on the floor, shaking and hyperventilating as the familiar panic set it. How could this happen? How could people just _get away_ with evil. He dragged at his shirt, freeing his neck from the strangling weight of his collar as Draco appeared at the door, desperately unlocking it and rushing in.

"My Harry, calm down, my love. It's going to be okay," he had whispered, coming to sit beside him on the floor, offering his hands, but knowing better by now than to touch him without invitation. Harry gratefully took both Draco's hands and focused on his blond, concerned face, trying to slow down his breathing. Finally, he felt the beat of his heart calm, and felt the immediate exhaustion, so different from the general tired he always felt now.

He collapsed against the tub with Draco still holding his hands, and didn't resist when Draco pulled him down, so that Harry's head rested in his lap. They sat this way for hours, Draco smoothing his hair, murmuring, 'hush, you are safe. You are fine", almost begging for it to be true. Harry must have fallen asleep, for when he was next aware, he was jolting awake, trying to escape prying hands at his throat and feeling sweat emerge from his every pore.

He gently rousted Draco from his doze, afraid for the kink he'd have in his neck in the morning, and directed him to their bed. For a moment, he just watched; watched as Draco's face smoothed back into rest. As the concern for Harry, the exhaustion and the fear that creased his face during the day drained away, and he was once again just beautiful. Harry reached out and stroked the side of the strong, confident face he had grown to love so much. He wanted to be better for Draco. He wanted to be the best he had ever been, not this empty shell. He just wasn't sure how. He tried to just fall back asleep, but he just couldn't. He'd stood up and padded as lightly as possible down to the bathroom. He cleaned up his earlier mess, and went to the cabinet.

Staring down at the blue liquid inside, the solution had seemed very clear to him. Even now, Harry remembered the clarity. How everything had just _made sense_ all of a sudden. For an hour, Harry sat in the bathtub and sobbed. He should have been better; for himself, for Ron, for Draco. But he wasn't. He wasn't better. He was scared, and alone, and all the time he spent trying to figure out why, all the time he had spent fighting against evil, it didn't seem to matter. It hadn't made any bloody difference. The bad was still free in the world, free to destroy good.

And he was just.

So.

Tired.

The last thing he remembered of that night was the feeling of utter failure. He just wanted to sleep. He was going to deal with it tomorrow. He was going to get up and try harder. He was going to get up, and love Draco better. Be a better Auror. Find a way to matter again. As he pulled the cork from the bottle, that is all he was thinking; that he just needed to sleep, and that tomorrow, he would do better.

Although, as he had drifted into darkness, he realized that it was easier this way. If he just didn't have to do it anymore. It hurt less, right now. The pain and the darkness disappeared.

He hadn't meant to drink it all.

* * *

To hear Draco tell it, it hadn't been disappearing at all; apparently, his body had not been impressed with that much potion. Never much of a heavy sleeper, the recently awoken Draco had leapt out of bed to the sound of flailing and clattering. Running into the bathroom, he had found Harry, crashing in the bathtub, eyes rolling back, movements unnatural and jerky.

He had to rely on Draco's account of matters, because the next thing he himself remembered was waking up in a hospital bed at St. Mungo's two days later, Ron pacing in a corner, Hermione knitting across his bed, and Draco passed out in a corner on a very uncomfortable looking chair. When he tried to speak, he found his voice hoarse and unusable. His entire body hurt.

"Oh, Harry…" Hermione said softly, looking up at him as she heard his muffled movements.

"Hare!" Ron was immediately hushed by Hermione, who looked pointedly at Draco. But she needn't have worried. Harry immediately saw that Draco was awake. He had not moved, but he was looking at Harry heavily, darkness harshening his face even more than the dim lighting.

"Harry, we love you. Thank you for coming back. We'll talk later. Ron," Hermione stood and beckoned for her husband to follow. Ron walked over and put his hand on Harry's shoulder, and then followed her out of the room.

For a moment, Draco didn't move, he just continued to look across the room at Harry with that expressionless face, as though deciding his next move. Finally, he stood up, pulled at his sweater, and took one step forward. He crossed the room, now looking every bit as exhausted as Harry still felt.

"You know...I had all these ideas, things I was going to say if you woke up. Do you know they weren't sure you would?" Draco said, no heat to his voice. "I can't remember any of it. Harry-"

There was a choke in his voice that Harry had never heard before. He reached his hand out toward the only person he could have woken up _for_ , which was apparently all Draco needed. He grabbed hold of Harry's hand and collapsed completely into it, crumbling into himself. Harry used what tiny amount of strength he had to bring Draco closer, until he was lying beside Harry in the too narrow bed, pressed into the space where he belonged, blond, feathery hair against his neck, warm breath mingling with tears.

"Hey," Harry had whispered with all the volume he could find. "Hey, D. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Draco had only held him tighter, and refused to move for hours. As doctors fluttered in and all around him, checking things constantly, casting spell after spell, Draco refused to move. Even when eventually, Draco fell asleep, Harry didn't move him, held on just as tight, trying to remember why exactly it had ever seemed like a good idea to leave him behind. How could he have been so stupid?

Days went by, and two things became clear to Harry; First, he was very, very ill. There was no denying it. He needed some serious help. It became abundantly obvious that even once the last of the potion finally cleared itself from his limbs, even once they stopped feeling so lethargic and heavy, he would be going nowhere. The doctors all around him spoke as though he was a resident now, and Harry slowly began to understand that he was going to have to stay a while.

Secondly, he had not been fooling anyone as much as he had believed. Draco, he was not surprised about; he had known for months that he wasn't fooling Draco. But he had really deluded himself into believing that he had been hiding his descent from his friends. It was not true.

The first thing Ron said to him was 'Harry why didn't you say anything? I didn't know things had gotten so bad.' and Hermione just kept having to leave the room crying. Neville was quiet and present, just as Neville always had been, steadily bringing things they needed, like a change of clothes when Draco wouldn't leave the hospital, and coffee for everyone who'd been hanging around for hours. But even he seemed more concerned than Harry had ever seen him.

Six weeks. That was how long the intensive program at the St. Mungo's Clinic was supposed to last, for cases 'like his'. Harry felt like maybe they were confused; surely, no one else endured feeling this way every day. Still, he liked the small, pixie-faced witch who became his counsellor. And at first, the fear was his motivation, so Harry participated. He fully tried. He knew he had to, and he wanted so badly to go home. He wanted to get off the potions, forever. He never they had kept him on since the bathtub. He wanted to go back to his job, back to Draco, back to his life; so he cooperated and fought back.

When he got home, he did better for the summer. He felt like things were going well; he saw his therapist three times a week, he stopped the sleeping draughts, but seemed to be able to sleep the night. He was trying very hard to see all the lights at the ends of all the tunnels, and Draco was back to his former self. For those warm, sunny months, life seemed brighter. Lighter. Almost perfect.

There was just one sticking point. There was always one sticking point. Draco, in his attempt to understand, had decided that the thing to blame for all the pain was not Harry, but the Auror department.

And so, while things were going well most of the time, they argued quite frequently. And as they continued to fight, Harry felt himself pulling back again. He was back in the field on a trial basis, and Draco did _not_ like it. The fight that stuck in Harry's mind, the one that was the beginning of the end as far as he was concerned, had happened in early September. Harry was back from a case, an easy one, but one that had taken him away from the house for 48 hours. He had come home excited to be there, a new feeling that he had missed. But Draco had been in a foul mood, a bad day, combined with bad weather making him grumpy and despondent. All Harry had managed to say was 'hi' before Draco had pounced.

"Hi?" he had spat, making a huffing noise. "I guess that's what we say when we see strangers, yes."

"Strangers? D. Come on. I'm sorry. I'm home for a bit now; we should go out. What are you up tonight?"

"So you want to _what_ go on a date, like everything is fine?"

"Is everything _not_ fine? Remember, we said we were going to be honest. Draco, please. I am actually trying right now. Tell me."

"Fine…Ugh. I'm not actually angry. I'm sorry. It's just…Harry, I hardly see you anymore. It's like we don't exist as a couple anymore."

And that had set Harry off. For the first time in months, he felt like they _were_ actually existing as a couple again. At least, he had felt like they were. To hear Draco so directly contradict this belief annoyed him.

"What, because we don't go out as often? Is that the issue? You don't get to be _seen_ with me anymore? Draco, I don't know what you want me to do. I'm working. It's my job!"

Picking up on the sudden change in the tone of the conversation, Draco was immediately incensed as well. "Oh yes, your JOB. How could I expect that, even now, the bloody only important thing in your life is the frigging _job,_ which still manages to keeps you from the house for days at a time. The job that drags just a little bit more of you away each week. The job that erases any progress we've made each time you get dragged back into it. "

"It's not 'erasing progress'. I'm doing fine! What would you have me do, huh? Quit? Stay here and cook and clean for you like a fucking house elf?"

"Harry, you know that's not what I mean. I would have you do the one thing I've been asking you to do for months. Transfer, take on a supervisory role, here, at least until you work through some of this shit. At least until you are back to…"

"What? Normal? You don't even know what that means for me!" Harry took a breath and tried to stop yelling. "Truth is, you've only ever seen me fucked, Draco. At least as adults. Are you scared that this is as good as it gets for me? You know what, as I recall, you don't actually like happy me that much, considering how much you hated me at school. Maybe you should be careful what you wish for. I can't believe you don't know me well enough to know how badly I would do tethered to a desk."

"Not forever!" Draco responded, not taking the bait. "Just for now, if that's what it would take! At least if you were tethered, I'd know where you were. I know you were still alive. Still... Safe."

Draco had dropped his eyes then, clearly close to crying. The threat to tell Kingsley of the details of his 'hard times', of the bathtub, and Mungo's, had been made so many times that they had lost all meaning. But this? This obvious pain, this hurt? This clawed at the dark thing in Harry and made him weep without knowing why.

The next day, he had gone to Montgomery and admitted that he wasn't ready to be back in the field. He took a desk job. He just wanted Draco to be okay, wanted him to be happy. He deserved to be happy, and it was not fair for Harry to take that from him.

Auror. It's what he had always wanted; but now, as he spent long hours bored out of his mind, he couldn't really remember why. He hadn't been interested in other things, true, but he had been seventeen then, and there had been no war yet. Had he underestimated how much of a toll that year had taken? Perhaps it had been the worst idea he had ever had to follow Ron into training, simply because it had always been their plan. Maybe he should have taken some time to re-evaluate.

September rolled by, and suddenly, he and Draco had been together two years. A hard two years, which had felt like a decade. No Spain this time, just a slightly tense dinner out together in Muggle London, followed by Harry claiming exhaustion and going straight to sleep.

Draco got grumpier and grumpier, and the reality that it was because Harry was home all the time was not lost on him. He wanted to be mad, wanted to be so angry that he smashed things. The fact that he was there was Draco's fault, for Merlin's sake. Instead, he started sipping potions again. Just sometimes, and just sips. It just seemed easier, to face everything, if he was just slightly less present. He loved the idea of Draco being there all the time, and he was annoyed that Draco clearly did not feel the same way.

One day, in late October, Draco came into the living room, where Harry was admittedly not as present as he should have been. He had lost count of how many small sips he had taken that day, and he turned his body only vaguely at Draco entering.

"Harry," Draco said cautiously.

"Hey, babe. What's shakin'?"

"Harry? How much did you take?" Draco sounded very tired all of a sudden, and for some reason, this confused Harry.

"What? I don't know what-"

And that's when it had happened. Suddenly, things were very much present. Things were technicolour, vivid, and probably always would be. The pain, the emotion, they somehow replaced the potion fog.

"Harry, you don't call me 'babe'. It's clear you've been taking that potion again. Please sit up. I need…we need to talk. No. Actually, _I_ need to talk."

Harry sat up. He moved very slowly, as though talking to a suspect. Something had shifted in the room, something felt painful and truthful, and he did not like Draco's tone.

"Do you know what I need from you Harry?" Harry went to speak in response, but Draco sat in the chair opposite him and held up a hand. Harry shut his mouth.

"Nothing. I don't need anything from you. Sure, there are things I _want_ from you- love. Respect. Comfort once in awhile...but I don't _need_ anything from you. Before you, I was an independent human being. I was actually pretty happy, frankly. I didn't need anyone. I didn't need anything. Then you appeared…and forced me into this, I don't know, thing. And it was great for a bit there. I realized this morning, though. The truth. That after you, I will go back to being that person. Or at least, I think I can. Can you honestly say the same thing? It's a lot of work being your only thing….a lot of work being the only one you hold on to."

Draco paused here, but Harry didn't think it was for impact. It was like Draco needed a moment to recommit to his speech, collect himself. He gave a small nod. "I just… don't know if I can do it anymore. The weight of you needing me, it's just pressing me down too much. I love you, and I don't know if I ever won't, but I just can't be the only thing keeping you alive anymore. I can't be the only reason you're still here. If I don't leave now, I think it's going to kill both of us."

He stood up again, even though Harry was sure he'd only been sitting a moment. He took a deep breath before saying, "Neville's on his way over. He's going to stay here with you awhile. I don't trust leaving you alone, but I can't be the one to stay anymore."

Hours later, when Draco had left with pre-packed bags, and Neville had appeared, flitting silently in the kitchen and not forcing him to talk, Harry still had not moved. He wasn't sure he had closed his mouth, in fact, from the shock of Draco's words. He kept waiting, for Draco to come back in, saying he was done thinking, that he hadn't meant it. But, of course, that hadn't happened.

They had spent one hour over lunch finalizing things, separating their belongings. And apparently, that was all he got; one hour to learn to live without.

Draco Malfoy walked out of his life again, and Harry's life did not recover well.

* * *

"Harry. Oh Harry James. It was _you_?" Ginny held her head in her hands.

"What? What do you mean?"

"Harry. Darling boy. You know I love you, but…I have been patiently waiting here for you to finish this story, because I wanted to know. The rest of us, we've all been so angry. Angry at Draco. We could not sort out what it was that he had done to you. But Harry, _it was you._ You hurt. You destroyed. You broke. It was _you_. And why? For the sake of what? A job you don't like?"

"Ginny, it's not that simple-"

"Don't. Don't you dare do that. We only get so many loves. You know that. Draco was- no is, apparently- so good. Beyond all our wildest imaginings, he was the best thing to happen to almost all of us. We've all been so mad at him, Harry... I can't believe it was you."

Harry looked down at his cup. She was right, of course, but it didn't really make much of a difference, not now.

"So," she prompted. "What are you going to do?"

"Do?"

"To fix it."

"Ginny, don't be ridiculous. I can't fix this. The 'this' is me; it's not just my _fault,_ it's who I am. That was his issue."

"Well, that is truly the stupidest thing I have ever heard you say. I have known you how long? Don't you think that if this depression, this anxiety, were actually 'you', we'd have told you by now? This isn't you, Harry. You haven't been you in ages. And it definitely isn't Draco's fault. I think we'd have been in that hospital room a year and a half sooner without him. And how did you repay him? You _hurt_ him."

"Fine, Gin, but even if you are right, I don't know what else to do. I tried."

"No, you didn't. Okay, now wait, that probably isn't fair actually. I think maybe I meant to say that you didn't try long enough. So, you try again. I'll help."

"Ginny, you…I don't want you thinking I can do this for Draco."

"No, I would never suggest that. I don't want you doing this for anyone. I just want you to live again. Don't you want that?"

Harry sighed a deep sigh. And nodded.

"Gin, I think I need to go back to the hospital…do you think you can take me?"

"Course, darling. Let's go."


	5. And Let the Quiet Put Things Where They are Supposed to Be

He wandered into work as quietly as was possible, mostly because he was late. Again. It was probably the fourth time this week. It wasn't something he was proud of, because he was normally extremely punctual. Up until this month, it probably would have been one of his qualifiers when people described him. "Oh yes…he's an excellent employee," they'd say. "Always on time, even for appointments."

But this month, it had gotten much more difficult to get up, let alone get his life together enough to get to work. His bed was new, too firm, too cold, too…empty. The flat he was renting had been painted too recently for his liking, and he could smell that faint din of paint in every room. It gave him headaches. The flat was also in too quiet a part of town, and he woke up to the slightest sound, and didn't go to bed when he should have.

All these little things were adding up, until he was suddenly late.

A lot.

He sighed and settled at his desk, trying his best to look like he'd been sitting there for the forty-five minutes he should have been. He rubbed at his temples, and begged his eyes to refocus on the files he needed to get organized and off his desk.

 _Maybe I need to take up a new hobby_ , he thought. _It would help with the extra energy, at least._

He was so lost in thought that he didn't hear the department door open ten minutes later, which means he, quite typically actually, jumped when a voice softly spoke his name.

"Merlin's beard, Ron. Knock much?"

"Er, sorry."

"Look, why are you here? I'm quite far behind. I don't really have time this morning to be shouted at and blamed for everything wrong with the world. I can pencil you in for a meeting this afternoon if you would like."

"Calm down Draco. I just…Ginny sent me, actually. We wanted to check…wanted to ask you if you are, um, okay?"

Draco's head snapped up and he met Ron's eye. The change in tone and conversation from the past few months was confusing and unprompted; well-rehearsed caution snapped back into his movements, and he felt his shoulders involuntarily tense, his eyes narrow.

"If _I_ am _okay._ What happened to yelling at me and asking me what I did to Harry?"

"It seems," Ron said, taking a deep breath. "It seems that we didn't have the whole story. Ginny talked to Harry, he told her the whole thing. We owe you an apology. And we wanted to make sure that you are okay."

Draco laughed a short, humourless laugh, "Okay. Yeah, sure. I'm ' _oh-kay_.'"

"Draco, I didn't see. I-" Ron stopped short in a deep breath that would have been a sob on anyone but the redhead. "I just didn't realize that-"

"No one did, Ron," Draco said, his voice softening without his intention. He felt very bad about Ron, really. It wasn't fair, the pain he was feeling. It really wasn't his fault, even if there was an argument that could be made people on the outside that he could have done more to help. Still, he meant it when he said, "He didn't want anyone to see. It's not anyone's fault."

"Still, he's my best mate."

"Ron, how is he? Is Neville still with him? I was…worried. I know I don't have a right, but-"

Ron's brow furrowed slightly, "Draco, mate. He's back in hospital. The Wiltshire branch, long term facility. Gin took him last week. I'm sorry, I thought you'd heard."

Draco stared straight ahead, sort of unable to make his eyes focus on anything at all, and shook his head.

"It's none of my business, or whatever, but just…isn't it a bit soon? To be moving on?"

"Moving- Weasley, what on earth are you talking about?"

"Ginny said that when Harry collapsed last week, they had just run into you and some new bloke at the grocery store."

Draco's head collapsed onto the desk, "Ed."

"Er, right. Well, just be a bit more discreet, maybe?"

"Ron. Ed is my cousin. He was staying with me for a bit, right after. He's from France. _Édouard_."

"But Gin said you were all chummy?"

"Yes, he's my best friend. Since we were children. One of the few people I've ever given that title. He's…he's almost all I have left. I'm not really surprised Harry didn't remember…he's really unwell. They had never met, and I doubt he was thinking about my family tree given the fact that he was mid-panic attack at the time."

"Oh, okay…well, good."

"Do you truly believe that I will be able to just _move on_. You really don't know me, do you?"

"No, I guess not. Sorry."

"It's not your fault, Weasley. It is so, _so_ not your fault. Take care of him for me."

Ron nodded, but despite the immediate agreement, Draco couldn't stop himself from whispering, " _Please._ "

* * *

Harry hated therapy. He really, really hated therapy. As much as the Mungo's Wiltshire Cove attempted not to look like an inpatient centre, it _was_ a treatment centre. The people around him were all just as sick as he was, and the pale yellow walls, the calming seashore prints, the soft lighting- none of it could hide the fact that the place was built to house people who were very close to no longer being alive.

When Ginny had dropped him off in London, there had been a battery of tests; written, verbal, blood. You name it, they had done it. An hour later, his new case worker, a woman he did not like as much as the old one, had announced that he was to be transferred. She left him alone for the five minutes it took for her to get his paperwork sorted out, and foolishly, she left his file on the desk. So of course, Harry had read it. There it was, in written form.

_Depression. Anxiety. Possible complications of PTSD. Potion dependency, history of overdose and suicidal ideation. Recommendation, intensive inpatient._

It sort of knocked the wind out of him, seeing the word written down like that. Obviously, he had had some inclination; he lived in the world, he heard things. It's not like he wasn't aware that he was likely depressed, but the word seemed so simple, so clinical, written down beside his name like it was no big deal. Like it wasn't slowly killing him. And _dependency_? Was he 'dependent'? Maybe.

Regardless, he didn't fight the decision that he stay for at least three months in Wiltshire. Detox had been bad, although not as bad as he had anticipated. Still, the detox was nothing compared to the fact that he was now expected to just sleep on his own.

More than the sanitized activities and the strict schedule and the bad food, Harry hated group the most. Group was the worst hour of his day. He was expected to sit there, and listen, and then share. He was supposed to tell his story as though it was normal; as though the fact that he had willingly walked into his own death, only to defeat the greatest evil in wizarding history, only to realize that some of his closest friends had died anyway. As though all of what he had been through was _normal_.

As bad as group was most days, he hated Wednesdays the most. On Wednesday, he had his hour with his clinical therapist right after frigging group. Which meant that every Wednesday, he was still angry when poor Collette tried to pry the pain out of his soul. He, generally, loved Collette. She was young, possibly too young to be doing what she was doing. But she was also endlessly calm, completely lovely, gentle and understanding. He supposed these things were necessary for her job, but he appreciated them nonetheless. Most of the time. Right now, as he sat at the window with his arms crossed, fuming about Roy the Racist's daily rant, he was a little done with her positivity. And she was a bit done with him, apparently.

"Harry," she sighed. "Look, I know it's Wednesday, but you promised me yesterday that we would pick up where we left off? How did the meditation go?"

Harry just looked at her.

"Okay, so no meditation. Well, fine, but we need to figure out _some_ sort of coping mechanism for your anxiety, Harry. I can't sign off on you leaving until we get a handle on the panic."

"I know, but sitting in silence doesn't really work to calm me down. I need to move."

"Well, we can work with that. Who's your favourite band?"

"What?"

"Music, Harry. What do you like?"

"Um.…"

"Ugh, Hogwarts wizards. None of you ever seem to listen to music. I can't figure it out. It's like you have to make a solemn vow to forgo all human pleasures when you become a wizard. I'm so glad I went abroad; okay, homework. In the lounge, there is an old record player. It has a bunch of different records. Listen to some. Figure out what you like. I'll work on getting you some sort of personal playing device…Magic, of course, so you don't screw with the electronics. Have you ever tried running?"

"Uh, no."

"Try that too. Any progress on the job plans?"

"Well, I have an idea. But it's sort of stupid."

"Starting points, Harry. That's all we are trying to find here. You are the one who decided you didn't want to go back to being an Auror."

"Hey, you agreed," Harry said, cracking a small smile. Collette was right, he had been the one who decided. The job was not working. He hated it, and it just stressed him out.

"Exactly, so let's hear it."

"Dumbledore's Army."

"The club you ran at school? What about it?"

"It's my idea. I want to…teach. But, like, not really. I was thinking, like, a club? I just keep thinking that when I was running that club, everything around us sucked, but I was still _happy_. It was so satisfying, teaching them to fight. I was thinking I could make it a club like muggle Karate? Like, there can be classes, but also a dueling club component? Or something. It's probably stupid…I don't know who would pay for it, but…"

"Harry, that sounds awesome."

"Collette, no offence, but you aren't exactly a neutral third party. Your goal is to have me out of your office. I could say I wanted to wrangle alligators in the Sahara and you'd say it was a good idea."

"Well, desert alligators are definitely a second option. No, seriously Harry. I think it's a cool idea. You don't need the money, not right away- you've said so yourself, work isn't absolutely necessary for the moment. You can afford a little risk. But seriously, that sounds fun; I'd go. There aren't enough wizard-only past times, you know."

Harry looked at her, searching for traces of mocking or of therapist truth-stretching, but as far as he could tell Collette was serious. Which felt weird. The random idea for a centre had been floating around his head for a few years now, but it had always seemed silly and childish, just one in a string of many unattainable plans.

"Keep thinking about it. We'll leave off here today. I'm tired of staring at your grumpy face," she said. But she was mostly joking, he thought. His grumpy face had slowly given away to slight curiosity, a new feeling that he had been missing for a while.

That night, as he wandered, sleepless as usual, he remembered Collette's words and went down to the lounge, curling himself into the large, wingback chair that sat in a corner he never sat in. He immediately loved it. He was noticing more and more, and one of them was these weird moments of comfort; he didn't know if it was simply that he was doing a tad better, but he was liking the noticing. Like waking up after a long sleep. He catalogued this moment for later use. When he managed to go home, he would get a big, soft chair like this, with the back high enough to cradle his tired head, support he wasn't aware he had needed.

He looked at the record player on the rolling cart that he had pulled closer to himself. He wasn't prepared for the fact that he didn't know how to use the muggle device. That didn't happen often to him, frankly. But Petunia and Vernon had not exactly been music people, and even when they did put on a couple of songs, it was from the battered old radio that Vernon kept for emergencies. He looked at every part of the player, even pulled out a record, but was baffled about what to do. He realized you were supposed to put the record on the round plate, but how you got it to play was beyond him. He gave up, frustrated, and sighed loudly as he leaned back again.

Which is when he realized he was not alone in the room.

"A demon, a need, or a hurt?" said a tired voice from the sofa whose back was facing him. Suddenly, the voice sat up, and Harry recognized Rabia, an older woman who, he gathered, had been here quite some time. Harry liked her, generally, as much as he had worked out how to like anyone in this place, where only the terrible things were talked about.

"Hi Rabia, sorry to disturb."

"You didn't. I should be getting to bed anyway. Can I help?"

"Just.…"

"You can't sleep. Yeah, I know. But, can I help with something else?"

"Maybe? Collette wants me to listen to music, but I can't work out how," Harry grinned at her sheepishly. He anticipated the motherly chuckle before it came, and instantly liked Rabia a little more when she simply smiled and stood up.

"Sure, make a girl feel old as Medusa, why don't you. Here, I'll show you. Sonny and Cher? Oh Harry, no. Do not start with Sonny and Cher."

Harry smiled again. "Sorry, Rabia, I just don't actually know what I'm doing. I've never really…I'm not up on music, Muggle or Magical. What _should_ I start with?"

Rabia stood back a step and eyed him appraisingly for a moment.

"Hmm, that's tougher than you might think. Let's see; you never slow down, moving all the time- you, my friend, are not an opera man. You've always been famous, but I think perhaps you don't love that. So nothing flashy. You're weapon of choice?"

"Sorry?"

"What were you using before you came here?"

"Um, sleeping potions? Sort of?"

"Okay, so the sleeping thing makes sense. So…in that case…here."

Rabia handed him the sleeve of an album she had just picked up.

" _Rumours_?" Harry said skeptically as she put the record down, and showed him how to put the needle on.

"Just try it. It's a starting place. Here; Roy the Racist rigged it to have headphones. It's helpful when he decides to listen to metal at full volume during quiet hours."

Harry laughed.

"What?"

"I thought I was the only one who thought of them that way. Besides, you sound exactly like Collette."

"Well, the nickname is right there. He's not really so bad, once you get to know him a bit. He's…working on the bad stuff, same as anyone. When you're ready, Harry, I can introduce you to everyone properly."

"When I'm...Rabia, have I been…Am I acting…"

"It's not just you, darling boy. Everyone is a bit standoffish initially. It's hard, at first."

"I've been here a month."

"That's a second, in terms of this place. The first two weeks, I doubt you even noticed the colour of the walls. Takes a bit before they get you off the potions, get you to notice things, really. You on Muggle meds?"

He nodded; he was, if he was honest, unsure about the medication. But he was doing everything they told him to for now. He could decide for himself later.

"Yeah, so it just takes a bit of time. That's what I mean, when you're ready. Okay, I'm going to sleep. Just…listen. It's good for the soul."

"Thanks, Rabia. Thank you."

She nodded and wandered down the hall. Harry put the headphones on, and started the album over. He listened to the whole album, possibly too loudly, but he liked how the music was drowning out his own thoughts; by the time he was finished, it was somewhere around 3 am, and he couldn't be bothered to get up. He curled deeper into the chair, reset the needle, and fell asleep where he sat.

For a week, he sat in the chair every night. He wasn't sure how he felt about Fleetwood Mac, with its springy guitar and happiness; similarly, he did not like Chuck Berry all that much. The album collection on the cart was weird and eclectic, likely from years of donations. Without Rabia's direction, he just started picking up random albums and putting them on the player. Each night, he fell asleep to the second playing of some random album. Queen, Neil Young, New Order, the Smiths. These he liked. There was pain and weirdness behind them, but also a soothing continuation. He started to immediately realize whether he was going to like something. He couldn't work out if his tastes had a genre, but he definitely knew what he liked and what he didn't like. It felt like the music was waking up a long forgotten sense of himself. He was allowed to say 'no' in this task. If he really didn't like something, like when he immediately turned off "The Greatest Hits of Bobby Vee", he didn't have to keep listening to it.

More importantly, however, he was sleeping again. Most importantly, in fact, he was sleeping again _potionless._ It had been almost three years since that had been true. And he was sleeping without nightmares. He was sure that the muggle meds were part of that, but he also realized that when he fell asleep with a record playing, it drowned out the panic. His dreams turned into song lyrics, and his unconscious played through his favourite songs over and over again instead. He woke feeling rested despite the chair, and he managed to look around in the morning, and notice things he hadn't noticed until now.

When, the following Wednesday, he sat down in Collette's office, relaxed and almost smiling, she seemed utterly surprised.

"Well, something has changed."

"I actually did my homework," he laughed. "Music."

"It's helping."

"I keep sleeping. Apparently, sleep is an important part of not going completely insane. Plus…okay, this is going to sound stupid. But, I can _choose_ what I listen to. It makes a nice change."

"Harry, we always have choices. You, too. I know that wasn't always true, but man, if you can realize that. Really realize it? Own it and hold onto it, before you know it, you aren't going to be able to recognize yourself. But business first. Meds?"

"Still feel a bit cloudy, but haven't had a panic attack all week. And…well, I mean, I feel less of the pain. My eyes don't hurt anymore. I noticed that this morning."

"Okay, good. We'll drop the dose a bit more, see if we can get rid of that fog."

"Do I have to be on them forever?"

"Harry, we've been over this. It's not an exact science. There's a chance that once we get the dose right, you won't even notice them. But we'll see…that is a discussion for further down the line. Are you still not sharing in group?"

Harry looked away, his foul mood creeping back in. "I'm not ready."

"Fine. Take your time. It's okay. Rabia mentioned that you seemed less…burdened."

"She talked to you about me?"

"Just briefly. She takes an interest in people. She's almost a permanent resident, for reasons she will share if she trusts you. She worries."

Harry smiled slightly. He felt happy knowing that someone was worrying about him in a good way. In a different way.

"So," continued Collette. "Did you find a favourite? You don't have to tell me, but…it might help. I can get you more music, too."

Harry looked at her for a second before replying. He suddenly felt like there might be room for judgement in this conversation. He didn't know why, but the conversation suddenly felt rawer than the ones surrounding his trauma and his time at war. Which was ridiculous. Emotions around music were new to him, and he wasn't sure he was ready to share.

"Erm, well…I like the 70s stuff the most. The 50s are too…gushy. And the 80s were just weird."

"Agreed."

"My favourite, though," Harry took a deep breath. "The Velvet Underground. Some Kinda Love…Pale Blue Eyes…Waiting for the Man. Can't choose. But yeah, them. Oh, and Neil Young. One of These Days."

"All good choices. I'm going to bring you some newer stuff, too though. It seems like you may be starting to see my point. There is so much you missed, you were so desperately trying to just stay alive. I think you missed the part where you learn how to _live._ "

"Merlin, Collette," Harry said, looking away again. "I'm not sure how it is that you manage to sum up everything I am trying to think all at once. I mean, seriously. You should write a book."

She simply smiled at him, wrote a few notes, and sent him out into the sunshine.

* * *

_"Then, I turned around and walked to my room and closed my door and put my head under my pillow and let the quiet put things where they are supposed to be._ _"_

_-Stephen Chbosky, Perks of Being a Wallflower_


	6. Your Magnetic Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that I rushed through the whole 'therapy' part of this thing. It wasn't to diminish therapy. I just didn't want to write a Girl, Interrupted thang- because there are more fun places this story is going. I'm running with it. This fic has a mind of it's own. Thanks for reading and following and reviewing! Okay. Onwards.

When Harry graduated- in a hilarious, prison movie style graduation ceremony- wherein Rabia made a speech, and Roy the slightly-less-racist gave him the Velvet Underground discography on an actual CD (bringing him at least part way into the new century)-he felt bereft. He wasn't ready, he argued. He wanted to stay here, keep learning, keep working out what to fix. But Collette would hear none of it.

"Harry," she said firmly the third time he brought it up. "You need to go back _out_. You need to be tested. We've finally got your meds sorted, and it's been four months. You need to go and see if you can do it even when the world knocks you down. I am still going to be there, but it's time. You are ready. Next month, we'll start working on your centre. You've already given notice with the Ministry. The new house is all set up. Mr. Potter…It's just…time.

She was right. He felt it in the very depths of his soul, he was ready. But he was also terrified. He would never, he knew, fully shake off the scary bits. They were just a part of him. But he knew how to deal, instead of sinking. He had routine and support and a plan. He needed to start over.

The first step was leaving London. He didn't want to be near the past, and that included the old house, the Ministry…Draco. It hurt, saying goodbye, but Hermione and Ginny had already packed up most of the house by the time he got there, and it ended up being relatively quick. The new flat, in Mortecue, was small and a bit dark, but the house faced the sea on the top of a hill, and the view made up for the rest of it.

He had never lived in a wizarding community, and at first, it was a bit bizarre. It was strange to see people Apparate out of the street, to watch children play with magical toys in the open, too use wizarding money more often than his random pounds that he now stored inside his sock drawer for nights out with Ginny. It was strange, yes, but it was also freeing. Once the publicity died down a bit a couple weeks in, Mortecue was a sleepy little hamlet. The people there quickly stopped caring that he was Harry Potter, especially when he was as boring as he was, buying pints of milk and ordering chips at the deli counter. Reading one book a week, and occasionally entertaining very small groups of red-headed strangers. How Ginny had managed to cover up his recovery, he didn't know…and he would never ask. But he owed her eternally, nonetheless.

For the first month, he filled his days with silly minutia. He repainted the flat, bought all new furniture, and re-configured the garden he suddenly decided he cared about. He scoped out new haunts in the village and surrounding area, and spent some of the early spring warmth lounging on the pebbly beach, just listening to the waves. It was different, hearing things, smelling things- noticing things. He revelled in it some more, until Ron said one sunny day, "Mate. It's getting a bit weird, er, the mentioning every sense."

Harry had laughed, and Ron seemed relieved. He realized with a start that six months ago, he likely would have snapped at Ron for a comment like that, and then gone into a sullen retreat for days.

"Ron, mate. I have been a supremely shit friend. "

"Ya, well, you can repay me with a free month or two of these classes I keep hearing about."

"What could I _possibly_ teach you?"

"Nothing, I am bloody brilliant. But it'll be good for a lark."

Harry decided after three weeks of being in his new home that if he was going to keep telling people about Dumbledore's Army, he was going to have to actually start looking for a space. It wasn't until he started that he realized how ridiculously difficult this whole thing was going to be.

"The issue, I think, is that I ideally need a loft…high ceilings, no room divisions, you know. But Mortecue, even the wider township, it's so small. There isn't much available."

"Well," said Ron. "'Mione and I were talking about it. We think you should maybe think about _working_ back in London. Just working there, mind. You can go completely across the city. Camden maybe? Or the docks? Or south, maybe? Dunno, just…we were thinking you might get more people coming out if it was in the city. And it's not difficult to connect to the Floo, or use an Apparition point or whatever. Just, something to think about."

Harry nodded noncommittally, but didn't say how he really felt until his meeting that week with Collette, in his study- which was apparently a thing he now had.

"I just don't think I can be in London. London is the bad stuff, London is where everything went to shit."

"No, Harry. That's not true. London is where- if you'll excuse me- _you_ went to shit. London had very little to do with it. You would have eventually collapsed no matter where you were, because you had dealt with exactly none of your issues. Now, I will not let you ignore all the hard work you have done by blaming a place for your downfall. Besides, they aren't suggesting you hold meetings in the basement of the ministry. We can find a completely neutral place, a place where none of the memories lie. I will remind you, in case I haven't gotten high and mighty enough already, that _Mortecue_ isn't actually neutral, all things considered, and you seem to like it here."

"I do. Why can't I work here?"

"So, the Docks, I think," she said, using her signature move of completely ignoring him and getting her way anyway. "They seem promising- all those old grain elevators and everything.

"Well, okay, I'll look. But there is another problem."

"What?"

"I've realized that I have absolutely no idea how to run a business."

"Ah, I see. Well, it just so happens that I anticipated this. So, here."

She pulled a bunch of pages from her bag and shoved them at him. Information pamphlets on night school courses, day school short term classes.

"So learn. This was not going to be without obstacles, Mr. P."

Harry looked at the papers, and back at Collette, before muttering, "So, you actually think I can do this?"

"What? You're kidding right? You are Harry Potter. You _do_ things. It's your M.O. You do things you put your mind to. I know one hundred percent that you _can_ do this, you just have to decide if this is what you are _going_ to do."

"Yes," he said, pausing for a moment before he continued. "Yes, I think it is."

"Cool. I can't wait for my first duel!"

* * *

And so, Harry ended up back in school. It was weird, trying to work his way around muggle business practice, work out sums and figures he hadn't used since Year 5, learn new maths he didn't ever think he would need, and then go home, and teach it to himself all over in the context of magic. There was probably an easier way, had he looked a little harder, but he didn't need easier. He went to bed every night feeling directional and fulfilled in a way that he never had during Auror training. He had spent those two years feeling like he already knew what to do to catch evil, and he resented every second. This was challenging, exciting. He could easily get lost in not understanding something, and had to push and fight his way back to the surface.

On weekends, he went and saw properties. He hired a letting agent, a Muggle one who was endlessly confused by his non-specific purpose.

"Really, Mr. Potter!" he would cry, "If you would just tell me what the space is _for_ , this would being going more smoothly!"

But, finally, on the third Saturday of endless showings, Harry followed the man into a two story, open warehouse with bright windows that faced the river. There was a grain elevator still in a corner, and holes in the floor, and beams that desperately needed reinforcement, but the bones were all he saw. He saw vaulted ceilings, and sturdy floors. He saw open floor plans, and a space that could easily become an office. He saw the main floor becoming a waiting room, or a lounge. He felt his heart swell.

"This is definitely it," he said firmly to the agent.

"It's a bit more than what you asked to pay, the lease. I can try and talk it down."

"Whatever, it's perfect."

All told, it took a year. It took one year for him to fix the space, place protective charms and wards on the building, buy a nondescript sign to make Muggles less curious, connect to the floo, and get permits from the Ministry. With Luna helping, he decorated the space with soft, cushioned flooring in the practice space, a moveable dueling stage, and gymnastics mats, disguised with magic to look vaguely like the large floor pillows that had once adorned Trelawny's office.

With his class behind him, he knew he needed to advertise. He set an opening date, took out ad space in Diagon Alley, Hogsmeade, and the Ministry. Asked McGonagall to post his holiday class posters at the school. And, taking a deep breath, he called _The Prophet_. When the piece came out, he winced at the photo. He was looking healthier, if a bit paler than normal. There was no arguing that he was fit; he'd been running endlessly, and as promised, eating and sleeping had made him look less corpse-like. But there was something etched on his face that he hadn't realized had crept in.

"Yeah, mate," Hermione had laughed. "It's called aging. It's all the rage. We all seem to be doing it!"

He didn't dislike the lines on his face, or the darkness under his eyes. They were now from hard work and self-care rather than self-inflicted torture, but they shocked him nonetheless.

He read the piece with a critical eye. Short, but sweet. Informative, but tantalizing enough that he hoped it would help.

_Miss those old school days? Wishing you could duel a partner safely in a chummy atmosphere? Want to learn more defensive magic or improve your skills?_

_Harry Potter is offering the chance for you to do just that._

_With his new business venture, 'Dumbledore's Army', Potter invites all witches and wizards, young and old, to join him in an inviting, safe, and social setting to work on the basics of defensive spells. He emphasizes that entertainment, and not injury, is the goal of the club._

_"It's modelled after old muggle 'boxing gyms'," says the Boy-Who-Lived. "Afternoons and early evenings, there'll be classes on using different spells and jinxes, tailored for different ages. In the evening, the dueling club will open up, with space for members to practice, and round-robin tournaments once a month. Membership can be monthly, or on a pay-as-you-play basis. The focus will be on fun, with a bit of skill testing thrown in for those who want an added challenge."_

_The DA will open next month. Tickets to the grand opening can be purchased at any wizarding pub, or by contacting Luna Lovegood, the centres de facto advertising manager. Mr. Potter thanks all for their interest, but may not respond to individual inquiries._

"Well, I think it's brilliant," gushed Hermione.

"Yeah, but you're Hermione. Do you think people are going to turn up just because it's me."

"Well, maybe, but that's not a bad thing. Once they see how fun it is, they'll stay anyway. Gosh, I am excited to duel again. Who would have thought?"

"Hermione, you are a Gryffindor. That's not a bit surprising," Harry laughed, happy for the support, but nervous nonetheless.

"Harry, my only worry..." Hermione started. He braced himself for the onslaught he had known would come. "Are you sure about running the place all on your own? It seems like an awfully big job, and Luna can't stay forever. She has to go back to running _The Quibbler_ at some point."

"You're probably right...I need an office manager, at the very least. Eventually, I might need someone to help me teach. Guess I'll have to put an ad in, huh?"

Harry hadn't remembered to do it, though, in the chaos of finishing the work on the building. Which is why Oscar was a surprise. Without meaning to, the next week, he had hired an office manager. The young man, just out of Hogwarts, had turned up at Luna's door, begging to be an assistant. He was under qualified, and overenthusiastic. And he immediately made himself indispensable. Within the first hour of meeting him, Oscar had fixed the leak in the pipes that neither Luna or Harry had been able to figure out, hung the hand painted DA sign, and solved the problem of a theme for the grand opening.

Harry knew from the frigging course that Grand Openings needed direction and activities if they were going to be successful. They brought out people who had come on interest alone, and not necessarily because they were ready to spend money. He wanted to make his opening fun, but for the life of him, he couldn't work out a theme that wasn't unbearable or an immense amount of work.

"You know," Oscar had said, hearing Harry and Luna arguing about it yet again. "Those old school fairs were always fun…did you two go to Muggle primary? Did you have those? They were full of silly activities, not super expensive, but always so much fun. We have space for that here. Could be like a funfair, with games and practice dueling for those of age, and snacks of course. And you could have rides outside- course, we'll have to glamour the area or whatever, but if you're selling tickets, there'll only be so many people right? What? Why are you looking at me- oh, bugger it, have I overstepped? I'm sorry, I do that. Forget I-"

"Oscar," said Luna. "That's brilliant. Can I put you in charge of organising it? Harry has too much going on, and if you are in charge, there'll be less that gets forgotten."

Oscar went bright red, but beamed with pride as he said, "Of course. You can count on me."

* * *

 

The night before the opening, Oscar had been true to his word. He had recruited his friends to help him, and the building was beautiful. There were games everywhere you looked, magic mixed with muggle; lolly pulls and ring tosses; guessing games and rides outside; the dueling stage decorated with balloons and streamers; the main lobby full of folding tables that would hold oodles of food and baked goods from various bakeries and mums from all over Oscar's life. It looked welcoming and approachable at the same time, and yet, like exciting heaps of fun.

Harry was still nervous, but he knew for sure that, if nothing else, the DA was in store for a wonderful party. Sitting in the office the night before, organizing last minute ticket stubs, he felt hopeful. And hopeful was such a good feeling that he was grinning like an idiot.

"Hare," Luna said as she put down the accounting books for a moment. "I have something for you…sort of a token of good luck."

Harry smiled even wider, immediately anticipating being handed a radish, or a necklace of butterbeer corks. Instead, Luna reached behind her desk and took out a large, square parcel he had not seen until she touched it. At her indicating, he pulled back the paper, and felt his mouth fall open.

Inside, he was staring at an old, torn piece of parchment. Across the top, in familiar scrawl, read _Dumbledore's Army_. Beneath the heading, two rows of names were haphazardly dashed.

" _Luna,_ " Harry whispered, "How? When?"

"Oh, I took it back from Umbridge in fifth year. She didn't even notice, the horrible woman. She didn't care anymore, after all, once she'd caught us. I've had it ever since, but I think it belongs here, don't you?"

He looked at her, embarrassing tears springing to his eyes, and nodded.

"Harry, we are all so…proud of you. Excited. I think this is going to be amazing. A place to bring people together; it's exactly what the world needs."

Harry stood up, and with the frame in one hand, hugged Luna hard. He really did love her. Thank god, he thought, for Ginny making them sit with her in that train car.

"Come on, let's put it up on the wall where the sign is painted."

So, beneath the sign that read Dumbledore's Army, beside the quote that read, _"It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities_ ", Harry hung the framed parchment of the original DA members. He was trying to make sense of his emotions as he read the names; some were still alive. Some had died in the fight. He waited for the panicked guilt to set in, waited for the crush on his ribs, the shortness of breath as he thought of the sacrifice of the war, of the pain. But it didn't come. Instead, he felt bolstered, he felt alive. He was proud of those who had lost their lives. At the same time, he was aware that he owed them his survival. He had survived, and here was proof that all that had happened was real.

"Luna, thank you. It's beautiful. Perfect."

* * *

When he woke the next morning, having not really slept that well, he felt a familiar buzz in his brain, just behind his eyes. The pain had returned, and he felt fear force it's way into his heart. He was running through mud again, stuck. He couldn't really breathe, for a moment. He rushed out onto the landing, with the intention of throwing up, but was stopped short at the sound of laughter coming from the kitchen.

 _Neville,_ he thought. _Neville and Luna, and Ginny. I asked them to stay._

He squared his shoulders, ignored the ringing in his ears, and walked down the stairs with purpose.

And was properly sick in the umbrella stand.

Neville stood before him, having come out of the kitchen when he heard him, and said, "Good thing it isn't raining. Feel better?"

"Much," Harry said weakly.

"Good. Let's go! Lots to do."

For the rest of the day, Harry didn't have time to feel like shit. There was too much to do, too many people to introduce himself to, too many tours to give, and duels to be challenged to; over 400 witches and wizards, and their families, had shown up. Hermione and Ron had brought Rose and Hugo, and stayed for an hour or more until Hugo got fussy. The stream of people was constant, all the pre-sale tickets having sold out, and more people showing up on the off chance they'd get in. And more than half of them signed up for full-year memberships by the time Oscar was done with them. The young wizard was in his element; he was everywhere, all at once, and no one left without having at least taken a 'free week' pass. At 3 pm, when they ushered the last of the guests out, Harry could only stand in the middle of the slightly-disastrous room, his mouth hanging open. He turned to Ginny and Luna, who were lying unceremoniously on the dueling stage, laughing hysterically for no reason he could see.

"Merlin. This might actually work, huh?"

Which made both of them, Neville, and Oscar burst into laughter anew. Harry had just joined them when there was a quiet, but decisive knock at the door to the stairwell.

"Should I let them in?" Oscar asked around.

"Well, one more can't hurt. No more after, though. We need to start cleaning up."

Harry was exhausted, and it was only the afternoon. He needed a nice, long nap.

Oscar went to the door a moment later, and in wrenching it open, disturbed the second knock of the single wizard standing on the other side. The wizard dressed in soft grey robes. With feathered blond hair, and steely, blue-flecked eyes.

Luna sat up quickly, suddenly on guard in a ludicrous echo of their surroundings. Ginny sat up with a loud, 'oh', on her lips. Neville took a step forward in front of Harry. And poor Oscar, hearing the commotion, looked from Harry, to the wizard, and said, "I'm guessing we know him?"

"Harry, love, would you like us to go clean downstairs, or…?" Ginny asked, having stood up and touched Harry's arm.

"Um, yeah, Gin. Thanks. I'll be down in a minute."

Taking Oscar's arm without explaining, the four of them strode past Draco and down the stairs.

"Hi," Harry breathed.

"Is it okay that I'm here? I'll leave."

"I...erm, I guess so. No, it's fine."

"Place looks amazing," Draco said, gesturing around the room he'd barely looked at.

"Thanks."

"You look-"

"Draco."

"Sorry. But you look…so much better. I don't even know if I'd recognize you. You have your swagger back."

"Parts of it. Some of it is new."

"Lots of it, I think."

"How did you…?"

"Well, Ron, really. But, I, uh, saw the article too. It was good. Did you force them to print what you wrote?"

"On pain of bad publicity, yeah," Harry chuckled. Draco looked shocked. Harry paused for a moment, confused. Until he realized he was smiling, and chuckling. And carefree. He stopped smiling.

"I owe you an apology."

"Not really. At least, no more than I owe you. Equal damage, I'd say."

"Still."

"I know."

Draco's eyes left Harry's face, whether intentionally, or because he had seen the dueling stage. His face softened a bit.

"Hey, that looks familiar."

"What?"

"Second year," he said, striding past Harry to walk toward the platform. He sat down lightly on the edge. Harry saw nothing for it but to follow suit.

"Oh, yeah. Ha. That wasn't a great moment for either of us, was it."

"Not especially," Draco laughed. And his face changed. Suddenly, the nearly two years Harry had just noticed on his own face appeared in Draco's. It was gorgeous; the light lines just starting, the slightly wiser eyes. It made his heart hurt.

"I should go help clean up," he said, standing again.

"Yes, and I should go. I'm sorry to…barge in unannounced. Ron thought it might be okay, but-"

"Draco, it is okay. Seriously. I'm glad you got to see it. Maybe one day, we can have a rematch on that stage."

Draco froze mid stride, and looked at the ground. He had not, Harry saw now, been anticipating friendliness. Harry didn't know what he _had_ expected; but then, he barely knew what he was saying at this point.

"Yes, maybe. Bye, Harry. You really do look…good."

"Thanks. Hey, Draco? It really is fine. That you're here."

Draco had already turned toward the staircase, and he didn't turn around. But he did pause, his stance guarded. And the pause was all Harry needed.

After all this time, a pause was more than he could have asked for.


	7. Play Me the B Side

**Play Me the B Side**

_Life's under no obligation to give us what we expect._

_\- Margaret Mitchell_

* * *

"WHAT. WERE. YOU. THINKING. RONALD," Ginny said, punching his arm as punctuation.

"Ouch! Ginny, stop! What are you on about?"

"Why would you tell Draco to show up at the opening?"

Ron grinned and said, "So he worked up the nerve in the end, hey?"

Which earned him another punch.

"Yes! Showed up at the very last possible second! Why would you do that?"

"Well," said Ron carefully. "Two reasons. One, because I think that they are going to run into each other anyway, and meeting in a controlled and predictable place seemed better than them meeting for the first time in the street. And two, I was dead tired of Draco asking me how Harry was."

"Well, _Ronald,_ one little problem with that argument. You didn't actually TELL anyone that it was a possibility, so there _was_ no control or predictability."

"Er, yeah, well, it sort of slipped my mind. So how badly did it go?"

Ginny looked away and blushed, "Um, it sort of went…fine."

"Fine!? You are here punching me and yelling over the fact that it went _fine?_ "

"Okay, but that isn't the point. It could have been a disaster. You have no idea if Harry is ready for that!"

"Gin," Ron started, gently, taking her arm. "It's been a year. I know you've been there for him, and he loves you for it, but at some point, you have to let him move on. Try again, to make a life for himself."

"I know that, but…"

She looked back at Ron, feeling her eyes glaze slightly.

"Oh, Ginny. We've talked about this. Harry…well, he's gay, isn't he? He isn't going to suddenly change his mind on that."

"I know, Ron. It was just…well it was nice to have him needing me. I know you're right though. He's fine. Or, as close to fine as any of us are, I suppose."

"What happened to that Adam bloke?"

"Same thing that always happens. I got boring, and he left."

"Ginevra Weasley, you are not boring. You are just in love with the wrong guy."

"Ron, I'm going to shock you but don't laught. l think I may finally be through with loving Harry Potter."

"Joyful days? I think? What happened?"

"The past couple months, it's been easier to…not be. You know Harry's new assistant? Oscar?"

"The fetus? Yes," Ron said, already wrinkling his nose at what he knew was coming.

"Oh stop it, he's not that young."

"Ginny, it's like six years."

"Only five. For me. Anyway, he's asked me out, and I've said yes. We'll see, won't we. He's more mature than _you._ "

"It's your life, Gin. I long ago stopped running it. So wait, what's happened with Harry and Draco then?"

"No idea. Harry came back downstairs after he left with a silly grin on his face, started cleaning up, and refused to talk about it. I don't even know what happened, just that Harry seems fine."

"Well good."

"Is it though? They hurt each other so badly."

"Not our concern. They have to decide what happens next. Not us."

"But you are facilitating, and that's okay?"

"I am not _facilitating_ , I am just…friends with Malfoy, which believe me, is weird in it's own right. I just provided a friend with information. Now I'm out. AND SO ARE YOU."

"Fine."

"Good."

-XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx-

Harry didn't see Draco again for a month. Not that he would have noticed. Probably. He was so busy with the sudden influx of people in his life. Before he knew it, he had a full docket every hour the DA was open; private lessons, group defence classes, and, his favourite, the full-swing dueling club. Even with the fact that Sunday's were only open in the afternoon, and he kept the club closed to clients on Monday, life was hectic. Perhaps a bit too hectic.

"Suppose I really will have to hire another teacher, hey?" He finally said after a day of not eating, or really having time to sit for five minutes.

Oscar looked up at Harry and said, "I know someone. Your year at school, actually, least I think so...maybe not. Oliver Wood? He's my cousin. He's always been a fair fighter. Anyway, I don't know what qualifications you want, but he's been looking for work. He might suit, no?"

"Wood?" Harry said, surprised to learn of the connection. "I thought he was playing for Puddlemore?"

"Was, until this year. He got tired of the schedule, and he kept getting rotated to the reserve team. He quit."

Harry grinned, "Yeah, he'd be awesome. See if he can come in? He'll need to do some practical and stuff, but it'd be great to have someone I know."

_Not to mention someone that fit, if things haven't changed_ , his brain supplied, shocking himself a bit. He had almost forgotten about his little crush on Wood, an unacknowledged truth from his past that made him chuckle.

When Wood arrived the following week, ran a few drills with Harry, and interviewed with Luna, they hired him on the spot. He was so run off his feet that he may have hired a troll, but he was pretty confident that Wood would do a decent job. He handed over two closing shifts a week, and Saturday mornings. The free hours felt strange and foreign, and he relished in them by wandering to some of his favourite London places, restaurants and cafes, less terrified of the city now that he had spent some time in it, happy and carefree.

"I told you," smiled Collette when he admitted it to her over coffee.

"Collette," he hesitated. "There's something else…"

"Hm?"

"Draco. He showed up to the opening, and…well, truthfully, it was nice. To see him. Talk to him. I'm not sure what to do with that."

"Well, I can't tell you what you should do. What do you want?"

"I don't know. I thought I'd forgiven him. No, I have, actually. But does that mean I should care still. He left."

"You might have too, roles reversed. Is it enough?"

"Enough what?"

"Enough hurt to ignore the obvious love that is plastered all over your face right now? I mean, it's been what, almost two years? And you still have that goofy smile just from mentioning him. Maybe you owe it to yourself to see what remains, now that you are doing so much better. Fix what was broken, if nothing else."

"Maybe. Or maybe I should move on."

"Yes, maybe you should. As I say, that is up to you. Just don't ignore what happened. That will only breed resentment."

Collette had never been so unhelpful, and it took him two more weeks to sort out his own emotions on the matter. Finally, he landed on sending an owl. An owl was innocent. Ignorable. Easier than showing up at his office, demanding that they talk. If Draco didn't want to see him, Harry knew he just wouldn't respond, and that was fine. The message he chose was simple, open-ended.

_How about that Duel? Let me know if you are free._

_\- Harry_

He sent it off over lunch, when he was pretty sure Draco wouldn't actually get it right away. He figured he'd get a bit of a breather between the fear of sending it and having to read a reply, if one came. Instead, however, a handsome great horned owl showed up at his office window less than an hour later, a small piece of parchment in his talons.

_Thursday? I don't finish until 8, but I could come by for a bit after._

_\- Draco_

Thursday was tomorrow, his brain panicked. Surely that was too soon. But, he felt himself dash off a positive reply, and then attempted to quiet his stupid heart. It was just a duel, a thing that was now his business. It meant nothing.

But even he knew that was a lie.

Draco agreeing to come and see him was humongous. Momentous. He had so much to apologize for, so much they needed to discuss. It felt like there could be no reconciliation. He had no plans for the future, but they needed to end things better. Properly. With Harry fully present, aware of what was happening, able to ask questions and offer apology and forgiveness. He forced himself to only think of this as he pushed himself through the next day. Thursday, there was no dueling, so his last client was a private lesson with the adorable old Mrs. Pinkle. He sent Oliver home early, rather than having him around when Draco arrived.

"That's it, Mrs. P! I almost felt it that time. We'll have you jinxing your mailman in no time!"

"Oh, you are a dear boy, Mr. Potter. I've always been so rubbish at this."

"Nonsense, you're doing really well."

"My goodness, look how late it is. I'll keep you from your next client."

"You're my last."

"Oh? You might want to let that nice looking young man waiting at the window there."

Harry felt himself blush, "That's my…friend. He's just here to see the place."

Mrs. P eyed him suspiciously for a moment, then nodded in a disturbingly knowing way before asking, "Does this 'friend' of yours have anything to do with me not setting you up with my granddaughter?"

Harry just grinned, "Goodnight, Mrs. P."

He watched as she walked out the door, as Draco grinned and shook her hand, said something that made them both laugh, and as he held the door for her. He took a deep breath as Draco turned, and walked through the entrance to the practice room.

"I brought food," Draco said, holding up a carrier bag. "I hadn't eaten, and then I figured I should bring enough for you in case you hadn't."

"I can always eat," Harry said, smiling in what he knew was a bizarre, guarded sort of glee. His entire body wanted to just run to Draco, mutter an apology for everything, ever, and crush him against a wall. He forced his brain to move in another direction.

"Yes," Draco replied, his own ghost of a smile on his face. "I remember."

They sat, cross legged and feet apart, on the stage, for lack of another flat surface. Draco handed Harry a curry container that smelled like heaven in a memory.

"Tikka from Rahim's?"

"Where else," Draco said, pulling out his own container and handing Harry a fork.

They ate in silence for what felt like a decade. The food was perfect; it was Harry's favourite, but he hadn't eaten it yet since being back in the city. He'd found other curry, of course, but it wasn't the same. This Tikka was perfect. Creamy, and just spicy enough. Of course, he knew that Draco was eating lamb korma, with no spice at all. He hated spicy food, and had often refused to even kiss Harry if he'd been eating curry. In the _before._

Before.

The memory jolted his brain awake, and he cleared his throat. He had to say something.

"Draco, um…why are you here?"

Draco looked up, fork halfway to his mouth. It was clear that he hadn't been anticipating the question, which was fair, since Harry had brought him here on the pretense of a duel. He waited for a snide answer from Draco, as usual. But Draco paused a moment longer than Harry had expected.

"Erm," he began. He sighed, and lowered his fork, "Honestly, Harry? I feel like we need to talk."

Harry sighed, relieved, "Oh thank God. Me too. I just, at the very least…I owe you an apology."

"What? Why? No you don't! If anything, I owe you an apology. I-"

"Draco, you have got to be kidding me. It's obviously me…I'm the one who was-"

"Who was what? Sick? I abandoned you when-"

"Draco."

"Harry."

They both paused, looking with their usual stubbornness at the other. Until suddenly, the tension broke, and they both burst out laughing.

"Well," Draco said once they had calmed down. "Maybe we just agree that we both suck?"

"Agreed."

"Okay. So, duel?"

"I mean, I guess so?"

So they duelled. Which was weird. The last time they had been standing across from each other, wands raised, and bowing, they had been enemies; at least, 12 year old versions of an enemy. Harry couldn't stop laughing, which was clearly starting to annoy Draco. The image was hilarious, right up until Draco threw a stinging jinx at him that hit him square in the chest and abruptly stopped his laughter. For the next hour, they threw things back and forth at each other. Draco quite often missed his shield charms, and even though Harry had been duelling regularly for a month, there were moments where Draco caught him off guard. That was likely because he kept getting distracted by the way Draco's hair fell, or the fact that he had arrived in Muggle jeans and a soft blue sweater, whose sleeves were now rolled up to the elbow.

Finally, Draco called it, out of breath, hands on his knees.

"Okay, truce. Merlin's beard, I am rusty. And, apparently, very out of shape. No wonder you look so fit; you've been running around duelling like a maniac."

Harry froze at the twisted compliment. He wasn't sure how to respond, so he brushed past it.

"Here, I have water in the office."

Draco collapsed on the stage and Harry brought him a bottle.

"So, same time next week? I'll start paying. That was too much fun."

"You don't have to-"

"No, Harry. I do. I have to pay you."

Harry didn't meet Draco's eyes. That was pretty much the last thing he had wanted to hear, insistence that this was a business transaction. There was no chance, then, of them just being friends.

"Well, okay, but I mean, I'd just be closing early Thursday otherwise. It's no big deal."

Draco looked at him, and Harry refused to face him. He was sure he was blushing.

"So, what…" Draco said, "You just want to hang out?"

"If you're game. Yeah, I do. I miss…"

He let the sentence fall. He wasn't sure that he had an end to that sentence. There were lots of things he missed, but none of them fit. None of them were things he could say out loud, not right now.

_I miss your exasperated sigh when I don't hear you the first time. I miss holding your hand as we shop. I miss seeing your face right before I fall asleep. I miss the curve of your hip against me. I miss your laugh. I miss you stroking my hair. I miss the way you sound when you are fast asleep beside me, and there is a tiny snore in your throat._

_I miss you._

He didn't try to keep talking, but Draco stood up, picked up his bag, and said, "Deal. I'll see you next week."

Harry let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding as the door downstairs slammed shut.

"Well, Harry Potter," he said out loud to the empty space. "You'd better work out what the fuck it is you want from him then, huh?"

-XxXxXxXxXXxXxXxXx-

For the next three Thursdays, he and Draco would meet just after Mrs. P's lesson. He would bring dinner, and then they would duel for an hour. They talked around the things they needed to talk about; they talked about Wood, about Oscar, about Draco's job. They talked about politics, and sport. They talked as new friends would talk, ignoring everything in the past. It was new, something they hadn't actually done, ever, and Harry was okay with it for now. But, Draco also left right after the duel. As much as Harry was now looking forward to Thursday, he would end up frustrated and confused every night after Draco left, without fail. But worse, he had no idea _why_ he was frustrated. Wasn't this what he wanted?

"Well, I mean, obviously not, Harry," Collette said, that tone of exasperation back in her voice. "If what you wanted was to be friends with him, you'd be happy with this civility."

"What do I DO then, C?"

"Harry, how am I supposed to know? I don't even know the guy! Honestly. You are a grown ass man. Work it out. How'd you get him to go out with you the first time?"

"Lechery. In an elevator."

"I don't even want to know. But, hey, try lechery again?"

"Too much history for lechery, I think."

"You are missing my point…you have to let him know how you feel. Or you have to stop seeing him. It's just making you confused and miserable."

"Well, duh."

"You asked."

So, on the one month mark of Thursday Duelling, Harry went into the evening with determination. Determination that got him exactly nowhere. He didn't say anything that he wouldn't have said any other night during dinner. He didn't say anything as Draco lay across the stage 'digesting' for twenty minutes. He didn't say anything as they stood up to duel.

But then, he lost every fight. He was too distracted to be defensive, too busy trying to figure out how to stop Draco leaving right away to throw appropriate spells in return. They had only been duelling for half an hour when Draco stopped.

"You okay? I think we should stop...I think I'm going to actually hurt you. What's up?"

"Nothing, sorry. Just distracted. We can stop."

"I'm actually knackered…long week. It'll be nice to get some extra sleep."

He picked up his bag, and was headed toward the door when Harry burst out, without meaning to, reached out and grabbed Draco's hand.

"Wait. Sorry," Harry looked down where his hand was suddenly burning painfully. He dropped Draco's hand. "Sorry. Um, just wondering if you wanted to…um. Goforcoffeethisweekend?"

"What? Coffee?"

"There's a new café in Mortecue. It's where…I live there now."

"Um, I know, Harry. Coffee," he repeated. "Um, coffee. Mortecue. Yeah, sure. Sunday? In the afternoon?"

"Well, you don't have to. It's just…I was just asking."

"No, let's go. It'll be nice to see the town again."

"Great? Three?"

"Sure. Night, Harry."

The next two days passed slowly. Harry spent Saturday cleaning his flat, and composing conversations in his head. He had to work out how to ask Draco the questions that kept rolling around there, and he had no idea where to even begin.

Sunday afternoon suddenly appeared, and with Oliver covering his day at the club, he spent the morning changing clothes and feeling absolutely ridiculous. He wandered to the café half an hour early, trying to slow his breathing.

Of course, when he was still waiting at 5:30, he was trying to slow his breathing for a completely different reason. He left, fuming, and paced around his living room for the rest of the afternoon. A million scenarios went through his head. One or two involved Draco being injured or ill, but most just contained a world where he had come to his senses and realized that coffee with Harry was not a good idea.

At around 7 that night, an owl appeared at his window. The note attached to its leg only had two words;

_I'm sorry._

Letting the owl go without a reply, Harry went to bed. For a while, he didn't actually sleep. But somewhere in the drifting between awake and asleep, he became resolved. He wasn't going to push anymore. If Draco didn't want anything but a dueling partner, than a dueling partner he could be. Was it better than not having him in his life at all?

Harry would come back to that question later. Right now, he felt like no, it was worse. But he wasn't exactly being objective at the moment. He was angry, and embarrassed, and just the teeniest bit heartbroken. All over again. He was really going to have to stop letting Malfoy take over his emotions like this. Friends didn't let friends become emotional puddles of goo over missed coffee sessions.

After a restless night's sleep, he was pleased to feel the resolve still pulsing through him. He went to work that morning resigned to the fact that he wouldn't bother replying to Draco by owl. He would ignore it. When he saw him on Thursday, he would pretend nothing had happened. They could go back to their normal Thursday night routine, and everything would be fine. Harry went about his day, cleaning the club top to bottom, filing paperwork, finishing up some phone calls and paying bills. Generally, making the most of a client-free day at the office.

Around noon, Luna showed up with lunch, promising she would leave at four, just as she always did. They both knew that neither of them would leave until well past seven, as they joked around and tried out new spells, and generally got none of the work that Luna meant to get done every Monday finished. He was glad of the company, since Luna's cheerful easiness made his head stop going over and over the never-to-be-mentioned-again incident.

When they finally began to lock everything up, preparing the lounge for the next morning, setting protective charms and wards- general last steps- it was already quarter to seven. He was just finishing up the last bits upstairs while Luna swept downstairs when he heard a quiet, but decisive knock at the front door. Casting a well-practiced amplifying charm at the floor, he listened hard. He liked to have warning of who was coming up. He should probably install some sort of system so he could just see.

"I'm sorry, we're closed- Oh. Hi. You know, he is, but I'm not entirely sure that you should see him. Not today," Luna was saying. She hadn't let the person in, and Harry couldn't hear their response.

"Well, I understand that, Draco, but you really can't expect…Fine. I'll go ask, but I'm making no promises."

Harry had frozen at the sound of the word Draco, and now, he wasn't sure what to do to look like he hadn't been listening as he heard Luna's footsteps at the door to the loft.

"I know you heard, and I wouldn't have come up at all, except…well, he looks really awful. Like he hasn't slept at all. He sounds sort of desperate to speak to you, just for a minute. Only, I have to go. I promised Neville I'd pick up dinner, and I'm already late. I should just send him away, yes? Tell him to owl you tomorrow? I don't want to make you deal with him on your own."

"Luna, you go. It's fine. Let him up. We'll chat quickly, and I'll head out too. There's no sense torturing him, if it's as bad as you say,"

Luna bit her lip, undecided, before sighing, "Well, if you're sure. I have half a mind to jinx him and be done with it, treating you like that all over again."

"Luna.…"

"I know, I know what you said. I won't…I'm just saying, I'd _like_ to. Okay, I'm off then. Don't forget to lock up."

She left him standing in the middle of the room. He didn't try and move as he heard footsteps. He was frozen in place as a very dishevelled blond man stalked into the room. Well, as dishevelled as Draco ever looked. His hands were shoved in his open robes, his shirt untucked and his black trousers slightly wrinkled. Luna had been right, there were dark circles under his pale eyes, and his skin looked sallow. He definitely had not slept.

"Harry-"

"Draco," Harry said shortly, cutting off what was sure to be a prepared speech. "You needn't have come all the way down here, the owl was enough. It's fine. It's…nothing."

Draco looked at Harry for a moment longer before looking at the floor. They stood in this deafening silence a moment longer, before Draco shuffled his foot and sighed.

"I did come, you know? To Mortecue. I was there, at three. I 'You Got Mail'-ed you though. Remember that one? I ended up watching you through the window. You've always looked so amazing in that black shirt. But, then, you know that. There were so many people, everywhere, and all wizards. Which, remind me later to ask you about that; you never struck me as a magical town type of bloke. But I just…couldn't go in. There were people who would recognize us, and black shirts, and expectations. So I left."

Harry sighed right back. For a moment, he had nothing to say. He felt like any words would be pointless.

"There were no expectations, Draco. If you didn't want to leave here, you could have just said. Waiting for two hours for a no show friend kind of sucks when you've just convinced the people in your town you aren't actually crazy."

"I know, I'm really sorry."

"Besides, I just wanted to talk."

Draco scrubbed his hand through his hair and wiped his face with an exasperated sigh. He mumbled something into the ground that made Harry just a little more annoyed. Draco thought he was going to stand there mumbling at him, in his _own_ studio?

Harry, angry again now, said, "What? Didn't quite catch that."

Draco dropped his hands in a huff and looked up, meeting Harry's eyes again.

"I said I _can't_ just talk to you! I can't! You don't get it, do you? Just standing here, near you, it's nearly killing me. I still want you every bit as much as I did in that fucking elevator, Harry. And standing here with you looking at me with those puppy dog eyes, when I know that all you are feeling is guilt- it's too much! I can't be near you and just be friends. I can't be near you and just talk. That's why the dueling was working. At least we were moving."

Harry watched Draco the entire time these words were pouring out of his mouth, watched his jaw tighten, watched his fists clench in and out. How had he managed to pull it off, he thought. How had he managed to convince Draco that he didn't want him back? As Draco's Adam's apple moved one last time as he swallowed, Harry decided that there was an injustice going on. Draco thought he had the sole right to being tortured by another person's presence? Harry did not think that was fair.

So he pounced.

The pouncing and the crushing of lips was so reminiscent of another time, of different versions of them that Harry almost started laughing. Probably would have had Draco not chosen that moment to sink into the kiss, to drag his hands through Harry's hair, to sigh as though Harry had just corrected every evil in the world for the next five minutes. When Draco's tongue joined the assault, Harry didn't hesitate for a second before joining their mouths together in rusty, but well-mapped territory.

He felt himself melt into the position he had been dreaming about for nearly two years; his hips shifted forward, his weight supported by Draco's slightly taller frame. His arms snaked around Draco's neck, pulling the hair at the base to keep him close. Harry noted that Draco's hair was exactly the same length as it always was. Military regularity at the barber had always been one of Draco's rules.

He inhaled through his nose as much as his body would allow and nearly started crying at the _Draco-ness_ of what he found. Sweet and spicy, full of citrus and sunshine. Full of the slight sheen of sweat on his forehead, full of the coffee and parchment and quill ink that always lingered on his skin after work, the smells of the Ministry that Harry knew disappeared completely when he got home and showered, leaving behind only _Draco._ Thinking about this made it suddenly very hard to stand.

Dragging Draco backwards without detaching their mouths, Harry sat abruptly on the duelling stage, only to have Draco settle across his lap, another wonderfully _right_ feeling. thighs the right width, weight the right weight, hands on his shoulders to steady, Draco dragging back more forcefully now that he had stability and leverage. Harry's hands immediately in Draco's feathery hair, determined to muss it up.

But, as Draco's hands left his shoulders to pry at the back of his shirt, attempting to pull it over his head, Harry suddenly felt off. Warning bells, as Collette would say.

"Wait," he breathed, pulling away from Draco's mouth and halting his hands with his own. "D, wait."

Finally hearing him, Draco looked down at his hands, his wrists frozen in place by Harry's hands. He took a deep breath and drew back slightly, though he didn't immediately stand up.

"We just need to…slow down, a bit. I…I can't jump into this again," Harry said, a sudden and slightly embarrassing lump in his throat making it difficult for him to speak.

Draco leaned in, kissed Harry on the forehead, and nodded. He finally moved off of Harry's lap, sat beside him, no longer touching. Still, Harry felt the fizzle of energy between them, felt the heat of his body radiating into him, and he questioned the wisdom of listening to the stupid 'warning bells'.

"Sorry," he muttered.

"No apology needed. You're right."

"Am I?"

"Yes. Harry, I don't want to screw it all up again."

"Again? So…you want to-"

"Since the day I left you with Neville, Hare. You had to know that. Did you not know?"

Harry looked at Draco, who, for once, was looking straight back at him.

"I have questions," he blurted. "Things we didn't talk about…before."

"Okay," Draco whispered. "Okay."

Harry's willpower crumbled. He reached for Draco again, crawled over on his knees, slowly lowered Draco across the stage until he was lying down, fit their bodies back together, revelling in how well it worked, how their hips clicked, and their knees avoided collision, and their chests heaved in and out in perfect rhythm. His face ghosted over Draco, who reached up and pushed hair out of his eyes, lingered with a hand on his cheek, searched every crevice of his face with those deep and piercing eyes.

"I thought we needed to slow down," Draco said, smiling lightly, still stroking Harry's cheek with his thumb.

"I was wrong," Harry said, kissing him again, and unbuttoning the untucked shirt, undoing wrinkled trousers, moving light kisses over familiar scars, carefully chiselled pecs, lightly haired stomach. It may have been two years, but Harry felt like he had been here yesterday. He still knew the curve of Draco's stomach, where to suck to make him gasp. He hadn't been with anyone else, so he supposed that helped. Draco probably had, his brain helpfully reminded him; what with not having to fight to stay alive, he'd likely had time to date. He shook his head gently and ignored the voice in his head, and moved lower.

"Harry," Draco gasped as Harry enveloped him in long lost heat. Harry took his time, feeling every ridge, every curve. Draco's hips moved erratically beneath him, just as they always had, and Harry felt his orgasm well before he came, just as he always had. By this point, Harry's own prick was pulsing with need, throbbing for what he'd so badly missed. He looked down at Draco, who was now spread eagle and breathing roughly, eyes closed.

"Draco, can I? I need…"

Draco's eyes fluttered opened. "Of course…please. Harry, please. Just…lube. It's, ah, been a while."

Harry cast a charm quickly, wandless magic coming easy to him in the midst of this much emotion. He pulled Draco's trousers and pants down completely, and wasted no time finding his own pleasure, unable to draw out the experience, lasting only a few moments before gasping and drawing down on Draco hard enough to make him gasp as well.

Harry collapsed next to Draco, who rolled closer and took Harry's hand into his own. Harry curled into him, the act of aligning his body with Draco almost more intimate and erotic than the sex.

"Well," he whispered against Draco's neck. "I'm not sure _that_ is what this stage was expecting."

Draco's laugh made Harry's own chest shake, and he smiled.

"Wanna talk now, or later," Draco asked.

"Seriously? Not now."

"Good," he laughed. "I'm exhausted. I barely slept last night."

Draco curled over once more, pressing the full length of his body against Harry, and immediately closed his eyes. It can't have been very comfortable, what with only the hard, carpeted stage beneath him. Still, he quickly seemed to fall into a doze, his ragged breath settling into a gentle rhythm, the small, nearly imperceptible snore that Harry had missed so much playing at his mouth.

And as uncomfortable as he was, Harry couldn't have been convinced to move a muscle.

-XxXxXxXxXXxXxXxXx-

Draco dozed for half an hour. When he hilariously jolted awake, Harry laughed.

"Still jumpy, then?"

"Shut up. Sorry, I didn't mean to actually fall asleep."

"S'okay. It hasn't been that long. I'm starving though. Food?"

"Sure."

They went around the corner to the pub. It wasn't a great pub, but it had food and it had whiskey, and therefore, Harry decided it was enough for now. There was a moment during which he felt like he should apologize for the dingy place, a thing Draco hated, having never quite managed to shake off the snootiness of his upbringing. But he decided he didn't care. He was hungry. He shook himself off gently and ordered their food. As he wandered back to the table, he realized that Draco was zoned out. It wasn't noticeable when you didn't know him, but as soon as you noticed it, it was easy to see that his casual gaze about the room, his crossed leg and his appearance of people watching was in fact Draco completely inside his own head.

"Hey, earth to Draco. Beer?" he thrust the pint in front of him and sat down.

"Sorry, was thinking."

"Don't. It's creepy when you do that," Harry quipped. The joke felt easy, which made his stomach turn over. How had they gone from being unable to speak about anything except the weather to this? Well. He knew _how_. Sex solved all things, until it didn't. He wanted to kick himself, putting the cart before the horse like this.

"Okay. Hit me," Draco said, lifting his glass and taking a long sip. When Harry just blinked at him, he put the glass back down. "Questions? You said you had questions? Might as well start."

"I…is it that easy?"

"Nope. It's going to be painful and crappy, but since I plan on going nowhere now that you have somehow finagled a Bottom out of me, at least until we even out the scores, you'll have to ask me at some point."

Harry gulped at the promising statement, but forced himself to look somewhere other than at Draco's mouth.

"So you want me to just launch right in?"

"Might as well."

Harry considered for a second. It seemed as good a solution as any to the fact that he kept stalling.

"Fine," Harry sat back, took a deep breath, and chose the first question that popped into his head. "Why'd you go out with me?"

"What? When?"

"At the beginning."

"I told you…I was curious. Plus, you were hot and you kept hitting on me. I just decided that it'd be a fun lark, if nothing else. At least, that's the answer if you're asking why _I_ went out with _you_. If you actually asking why did _Draco Malfoy_ go out with _Harry Potter_ , I have no idea, and you'll have to ask The Prophet. I kept going out with you because, I dunno, you were funny. And still hot. And I liked you. Does anyone ever have a better reason? Okay. My turn."

"What?"

"What, did you think you were the only one who got to ask questions. My turn."

Harry conceded the point with a nod, laughing at the typical Malfoy-ness of the argument.

"Did I ever cause them? The panics?"

Harry inhaled sharply. He hadn't had to talk about the bad days in quite some time; he was on the lowest dose of Muggle meds he could get away with, and the fact that he was sleeping and not freaking out meant that his friends hadn't brought up the depression and the panic attacks in a while. He had forgotten that Draco had none of the closure they all had. He hadn't seen any of the work. He was gone during it, and Harry would get to that. But for now, he had to answer.

"Sometimes."

"How often."

"Near the end? All the time. Almost everything caused them, then, though. That's why the potions started happening. There was nothing you could have done."

"We can pretend that all we want, but Ginny found a way. She helped you."

"She convinced me to go to the hospital, that's all. You were too busy trying to cover up for me. It's what I convinced you I needed you to do. That's still not your fault, Draco."

"Yeah, whatever."

"Hey, you have to forgive yourself too, you know. At some point? It isn't worth it. It happened, it's not happening now."

Draco looked away. He wouldn't meet Harry's eye again, so he just decided he would go on.

The questions went back and forth for an hour. Through dinner, through a weird shared pudding (weird because sharing pudding wasn't a thing they did.) Through three more pints. They were getting further and further away from the past, the questions stretching into conversations they'd never had, thoughts they'd never voiced for the sake of talking about Harry, or work, or worse, not talking at all. They had never planned the way normal couples do, they had never had those long-term talks. They were having them now.

"Fine," Harry said, laughing at the answer Draco had given about pets. "Marriage?"

Draco made a face, "I've never thought about it as necessary, no. You?"

"Meh, I dunno. I've never really noticed when people aren't married. Guess I'm sort of indifferent."

"Kids?"

Harry paused. He was unsure when they had gotten so off track. Still, Draco had answered every question for him, and honestly as far as Harry could tell. He wasn't going to start shying away now.

"I want kids."

"Just like that? No hesitation?"

"Nope. I've always wanted kids."

Draco looked at him, glassy eyes and a silly grin, "Hey, me too. Okay, last one…for me, anyway. Do you blame me?"

"Blame you? For what?"

"For leaving...for your illness…or, you know, anything."

Harry felt like he'd been punched. It had honestly never crossed his mind to blame Draco. He'd been angry, ashamed, heart broken, angry again. But never accusatory, never blaming anyone, least of all Draco. He felt his slightly fuzzy head shake. He reached across the table.

"Draco, we've been over this, haven't we? I was hurting _you_. You said it, even then. If you didn't leave, it would have killed us both. You, ending things? It shook me out of the comfortable belief that I was surviving-"

"Yeah, because I broke you even more."

"Maybe a little, but the end result is the same. You'll believe it someday. But I don't need to forgive you, I've already done that. _You_ just need to forgive you."

Draco said nothing, but withdrew his hand from Harry's and finished his drink.

"Okay, I have one last one. The one I've been avoiding. How many? How many since me?"

"How many what?"

" _Draco,_ please. You can just say you don't want to tell me. I can hardly blame you. It's a ridiculous question for a grown man to ask."

"Wait, how many… _partners_?"

Harry just looked at him.

"Hare, you're kidding right? None. There hasn't been anyone. Okay, once last year, my friend convinced me to go on a couple dates with this one guy, but I didn't…we didn't…"

"What about.…"

"What?"

"What about Ed?"

Draco laughed, "Ron didn't tell you? Figures. Harry, _Édouard_. That was Édouard _."_

Harry blinked once as ancient history clicked into place in his brain, and he burst out laughing.

"Your French cousin. That man, the one that made me so jealous and so heartbroken that I went into intensive inpatient therapy, that was your cousin? The same one you've been best friends with since you were three?"

"The same. Harry, I didn't know you hadn't realized. I would have told you. How could you have thought I was just fine, so soon after you? That's crazy."

Harry laughed again, "Pretty much sums it up, doesn't it."

"Does that answer your question?"

"Guess so. Except that now I am concerned with how long we've both been single. That can't be right."

Draco sat back, laughing lightly and closing his eyes as he leaned back in his chair. It was late, and he still hadn't really slept.

"Probably not. But," he said. "I was single a long time before you too. Maybe it's just…only meant to be you."

Harry froze. This was the crap that Draco said. This had always been the problem. Whenever he tried to pull himself away, Malfoy found a way to drag him back, pull himself back into sharp, clear view. Make Harry question how he'd ever ignored him. It had been happening since sixth year, for Merlin's sake. He didn't know what to do, though. They couldn't just get lost in the whirlpool of _us_ again. They knew better now; they were older, more cynical, generally just a bit less willing to believe their own bullshit.

"Draco, I can't…I just, I can't. Not yet. We can't just go back to what things were."

"Well, duh, dummy," Draco said, eyeing him through one eye, exactly like a dragon. "Even though, I feel the need to point out that _you_ are the one who just fucked me on the duelling stage. Still, I'm fine with slow. I feel like I'm meeting you for the first time, anyway. You're different now, like a whole new Harry."

"I'm a new old Harry, actually. That's what Hermione keeps saying."

"Like before. Before the war."

"Yeah," he whispered.

"Well, then, New Old Harry. I shall simply have to woo you."

He put down the glass he'd been toying with, stood up, moved to Harry's side of the table and brushed his shoulder before leaning down, and kissing him soundly, drawing an unexpected sigh out of Harry's throat. Just as he responded, Draco pulled away.

"Night, Harry. See you Thursday," he said, as he sauntered all too cheekily out of the pub and into the night.

" _Bastard,"_ Harry muttered, even though he fought a smile.


	8. But Instead of Finding Blame, I'd Rather Find My Way Home to You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This fic didn't go the way I'd originally planned, and now it seems happier than I thought it'd be. But, as a wise reviewer once reminded me, Drarry should always have a happy ending. These last few chapters will be a long, meandering adventure through years and years. I hope you enjoy!

**But Instead of Finding Blame, I'd Rather Find My Way Home to You**

Draco woke up a few hours later with a splitting headache. Not to mention pain in other, underused areas of his body. That, and the overwhelming sensation that he could not go to work.

Typical Harry, getting him piss-faced, hungover drunk on a Monday night. After owling the office with his sick day notice, he went back to bed to try and shake off the worst of it. Just as he sobered up enough to have a lovely dream about flying through Norway with Harry beside him, he woke up again. He was in less pain, physically, but that had the disastrous side-effect of letting him feel the full weight of what had happened. It crushed him back into shoving his head under the pillow. He'd rather have had the hangover back, truthfully.

After puttering about his kitchen aimlessly for half an hour, he realized that he was going to accomplish nothing sitting with his own thoughts today. He threw a cardigan over his pajamas, and flooed out of his flat.

Despite the fact that it was only eight in the morning Paris time, Draco found Ed right where he had known he would; hunched over his studio table, smudge pencil in hand, going over prints. It was likely that he hadn't actually gone to bed yet. And still, he managed to look effortless in that annoying way that Draco had to work hard to achieve.

In the small moment he had before Ed noticed him, Draco tried to eye his slightly older cousin appraisingly, to see him as Harry might have that day in the market. He supposed that, technically, Ed was attractive, though he lacked a certain complexity that Draco tended to seek. His hair, that same pale blond everyone on his mother's side possessed, fell easily and shorter than his own. He had pushed back sleeves to reveal tanned, muscled arms, and somehow, even hunched like this, he conveyed the fact that he towered over Draco's not insignificant height.

He shook his head. It was getting him nowhere to try and see Ed as someone he didn't know; this man was just Édouard, his lifelong friend and confident; the same one who he had come out to before anyone else. The same one who had always taken him along on adventures through family vacations. The same one who had pushed him out of a cherry tree when he was six, and then blamed him for climbing it in the first place. Somehow, Draco had come out of that experience both grounded, and with a broken arm.

"You know it's Tuesday, right cousin?" Ed suddenly called across the room without looking up. He spoke in French, and Draco's fuzzy brain took a moment to process the switch. Which Ed took as an affront, adding, "Not that I mind. You know you can always stop by."

"I was sick," Draco finally replied, still in French.

"But not sick now? Curious, no? An excellent story, I hope."

"Ed, I was with Harry last night."

"Huh, really? Is he still alive?"

"No, Ed. I was _with_ Harry last night."

Ed's head finally snapped away from his work and he turned to look at Draco for the first time. When he didn't even blink, Ed shook his head and sighed.

"I see. So coffee then? And a pain killer?"

As he settled onto a chair across the table, he felt a heaviness ease off his shoulders. Ed had always been this person for him. The one person who made him feel like he knew what it meant to have a family. When he brought him back a coffee, Draco felt the dopey grin on his face and wondered at its origins. As he dove into his story, though, he braced himself for the full force of Ed's disapproval. Having never met him, and having had to deal with Draco after the collapse, Harry wasn't exactly Ed's favourite person. Curiously, however, Ed sat in indifferent silence until Draco finished, "and so I went home."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why did you go home? I mean, I get Harry's hesitation, but you...I mean, we both know the reason you haven't dated since him is that you are still hung up on Saviour Boy for whatever reason. Now, he's slept with you, and told you he wants you back. You should be jumping for joy or swinging from lamp posts or something. So tell me, what is it you're worried about?"

Draco thought for a moment. This was at the root of his discomfort, after all. Why he wasn't at work right now. It's not like he hadn't worked through a hangover before. This was different. This was great internal conflict, and he didn't quite know why. He hesitated before responding. He didn't know what to say. Well, no. He knew _what_ to say, he just did not want to say it to Ed.

"I'm scared he's not ready."

"That's not it. It'd be very noble of you, but, I know you... Try again."

"There's so much bad history. I'm not sure it's a good idea to get involved in-"

"Nope, still not it. What aren't you saying, eh Lézard?"

It was that; the use of the stupid childhood nickname broke him down.

"I'm afraid that I won't be strong enough to leave him again this time."

Ed's stern resolve softened, his face falling back into familial concern. He stood to place a hand on Draco's shoulder.

"Draco, what if you don't have to?"

"But what if I do...and I can't?"

"I thought we solved this one, two years ago. You have to stop living in maybes and possibilities. That's what your father tried to do. It didn't work for him either. You left him to save him, not because you didn't want to be with him. So there's really only one question if you are trying to decide whether or not to be with him again now."

"What?"

"Do you still love him?"

Draco sighed. That was the problem, of course. It was always the problem.

"Annoyingly, yes. Though I can already tell that his overwhelming positivity is going to take some getting used to. It's like he's the same, but... More."

"Stop being an idiot, then. We don't throw away available love just because one day it might be hard again. That's stupid."

"Thank you, as always, for your gentle words of encouragement."

"Yes, well. You are only half the battle. Despite last night, he actually has more to get over, you realize. I'm sure his morning has been far more confusing than yours has been…I'm the only one who knows how hard it was for you to walk away the first time. He's feeling what you're feeling, times a hundred. Do you remember how bad that month was?"

"Exactly!" Draco suddenly shouted. "You were there through all of that time. You've been there since! Are you seriously advocating that I go back to him?"

"If he's standing there, willing to take you back, then yes."

"Just yes?"

"Yup."

"Well, Ed…I mean…fine?"

"Good. Draco, go home. Spend the day cleaning. That always clears your head. I'd bunk off and take you for brunch, but I have so much work. Because, as mentioned, _it is Tuesday._ I'll come over at the weekend, okay? We will go out and talk properly."

"Yeah, okay."

"Think, but don't think, you know?"

"Yeah, Édouard. Of course. Makes perfect sense."

* * *

Draco mocked, and he teased, but he did go home. He did think without thinking. For the rest of the week, he didn't contact Harry. He decided that he didn't want to push, didn't want to make Harry feel pressured. Even though his entire body ached to feel Harry pressed against him again, hands in his hair, lips on his neck. He had forgotten how _right_ it had always felt. It made him think of that one bloke, the short one with shiny teeth that he'd gone out with last year, and how very wrong it had felt when he had kissed Draco at the end of the night. So wrong, in fact, that he had thrown up the second he had gone inside. He hadn't even told Ed that.

So. He really couldn't afford to screw this up. And he waited.

Instead, he sent Neville an owl on Wednesday.

_Neville,_

_Ed coming into the city on the weekend._

_You and Luna want to join us for a few?_

_-Draco_

It was a risk. He hadn't spoken to Neville since the first Harry incident at the opening, and he knew that he didn't actually have custody over that friendship, no matter what he had pretended while Harry had been in the hospital. He didn't know where he and Longbottom stood. Which was a shame, really; the most shocking change of his life three years ago had not, in fact, been Harry. Instead, it had been the sudden and irreversible acquisition of all these non-Slytherin friends. Neville and Luna were incredibly wonderful friends, and he was ashamed of his younger self for not realizing. Neville was fiercely loyal, calm when no one else was, and caring. Once Draco had found him in his inner circle, he had never spent a day outside of it. Even when Draco had left, and asked Neville to stay with Harry, he had been bizarrely understanding and supportive. And then, he'd called Draco every day for two weeks to check up on him.

He wasn't overly shocked, then, when he received a reply shortly after his own owl. Not shocked, but extremely relieved.

_D,_

_Yes! Would love to see Ed...Love that guy. Luna says we can come if I don't get too pissed. We've a family dinner Saturday._

_-Nev_

_Ps. I expect all the dirt on whatever is going on with HP._ _Luna keeps coming home with half stories–she's a useless gossip._

Hanging out with friends, deciding he was going to get Harry back; Draco's month was looking up.

On Friday, when Ed had arrived, chic as ever, and they had headed into the city, Draco had been suffused with warmth. He felt lightness and hope in every pore of his body.

Of course, once the drinks had started, this warmth may have expressed itself in embarrassing confessions of love and slight stumbling. Draco had had seven pints; now, seven pints was quite a lot of drink for anyone. For Draco Malfoy, who had always been a lightweight, seven pints was rather _too_ much drink. For Draco Malfoy, whose cousin had been randomly and sneakily feeding everyone shots all night, seven pints was a completely disastrous amount of drink.

He'd would have regretted it, but he was definitely too drunk to bother.

* * *

 

Harry was without plans on a Friday night. He was okay with that, which was a lovely feeling. He no longer felt the overwhelming need to go out and pretend that he was normal, pretend he had a life that was organized and perfectly fine.

Instead, he was content staying at the DA for late hours, sending a giddy Oscar off on his (still slightly creepy) date with Ginny, and Oliver home to his boyfriend. He was content overseeing the duelling, taking part randomly to show people new skills, but mostly just revelling in the energy and laughter that was all around him. It was sort of beautiful, actually.

He had just finished locking up the office when the small, modern fireplace in the corner roared to life, and Neville's head appeared.

"Harry?"

"Hey, Nev. What's up?"

"Erm, okay…so you need to come out to the pub. I'm here with Ed and Draco, and Draco won't stop asking about you. Luna and I have to go home, and Ed thought it was a–Argh! Luna!"

Neville's head disappeared, only to be replaced with the steadfast and slightly weary face of Luna.

"Sorry, Harry. He's pissed. He got away from me…I mean, you are more than welcome to come out, but he promised he wouldn't try and drag you into this mess."

"Where are you?"

"The Hen, Tottenham Court Road."

Harry looked down at his ancient midnight blue button-up and ratty jeans. He should really just go home.

"Be there soon," he sighed. Draco. The pull of Draco. Always a problem, really.

The second he stepped out of the fire, however, he realized that his decision had maybe not been the wisest. He found his friends sitting in a booth by the corner, and two seconds after they noticed him, he was draped with a very, very pissed Draco. He was also immediately buffeted by a volley of conversations.

"Harry! I was just wondering why you weren't here."

"Neville, we really need to go home now," Luna said in apologetic tones.

"But, HARRY!" Neville shouted in reply.

"I know. You can be mad at me all the way home. Sorry, Hare."

"Harry? At last! I am Édouard! I think we met before, but perhaps not in the best circumstance."

Harry clawed his way out of Draco's grasp long enough to shake Ed's hand, accept Luna's apologetic hug, and pat Neville on the back as Luna helped him stand.

"Why did you call me, Nev? Clearly it was time to go home."

"Yes, but Ed is unreliable. And I am drunk. And so is Draco. You should deal with him; you were the only option."

"He really wasn't, Neville, which is what I said before you snuck away and ambushed him," Luna said harshly. "Sorry, Harry. Do you want me to take him home with us?"

Harry almost nodded. Almost, until Draco started shouting, "Ed! Come back here. You have to meet Harry!" across the entire bar, at a quickly retreating figure who looked astonishingly like the Frenchman.

"No, you two go. I've got this covered. I'll just…find a way to make them go home, or something. I better go."

Neville put his arm around Harry's shoulders once more before Luna pulled him to the fire and whispered, "You're welcome, Harry."

He followed at a quickened pace as Draco followed Ed out the door and into the street. Although, the weave which Draco had acquired probably didn't require speed; he took a couple of sober, long strides, and was soon walking just behind Draco. He was already relatively sure that he would not be thanking Neville anytime soon. He was just considering all the ways that he could make Neville pay for making getting him to meet them when Draco stopped mid-step, and Harry nearly crashed into him.

"Harry, I think Ed may have gone."

And sure enough, when Harry looked around, Ed was nowhere to be seen.

"Did he Apparate? In that state?"

"Probably not...he does this. He might turn up. Walk!"

Draco took off again, stumbling slightly until he realized Harry wasn't beside him anymore, causing him to pause, and look at Harry in an affronted, if slightly swaying, sort of way.

"You aren't coming?"

"I'm just worried about Ed."

"Don't be worried about _Ed_. He's Édouard! He does this. He'll be fine. Worry," Draco said, taking two strides back in Harry's direction and catching himself as he tripped by wrapping his arms firmly around Harry's waist before hissing in his ear. "About me."

Harry just smiled. He'd even missed this version of Draco; drunk, jealous, a danger to himself and others, and clingy- an adjective that could never be used to describe a sober Malfoy. Harry felt the missed time with Draco like a guttural punch, and was suddenly very aware that he was well and truly sunk now. There was no going back.

Draco almost managed to nibble on Harry's ear before he got sidetracked, and pulled away sharply, turning with one arm still wrapped around Harry as he attempted to move forward again.

"Let's get tacos!"

"You hate tacos."

"You're right. Draco, no tacos; too messy. Let's get flake!"

"That we can likely manage."

When Harry finally apparated a nearly passed out Draco to his flat an hour later, he felt shaken and exhausted in equal measure. Spending time with the truly drunk made him feel intoxicated too. He flung Draco onto his bed, which was not ideal. But, he had been out of options; having been unable to get Draco to tell him where in London he lived, it was either Mortecue or Luna's, and he figured he had brought the mess upon himself.

He pulled off Draco's shoes and threw a quilt over him before retreating to the bay window in the living room; Mortecue was so peaceful at 3 am, it was almost eerie. Try as me might to be angry for having to care for Draco, he wasn't; he was happy and confused, haunted and yet content.

He shook his head, curled up in his pants on the sofa, and was almost instantly asleep.

-XxXxXxXxXxxXxxXxxxXxXxXxX-

Draco woke up the next morning in a state of slight panic. Not only was he hungover for the second time in a week, but now he was in a strange bed, with very little memory after around the third pint. He scrambled out of the twisted sheets around him, and got up quickly, ignoring the dizzy vertigo and pain that spread through him from his head to his fingers. He rushed out of the bedroom and looked wildly all around him. His eyes did not land first on the kitchen table or the dark haired man sitting there, but instead found the old, gnarled broomstick bolted to the wall over the mantle.

"Oh, thank Merlin," he whispered, relaxing slightly before finally looking at the kitchen space of the flat. "It's you."

"Were you expecting someone else?" Harry smirked, amused and just a little bit more smug than Draco was used to seeing him.

"I, er, don't have that many clear memories about what happened last night?"

"Shame. You were pretty hilarious."

"Why.…I mean, how'd I end up here?" Draco asked, immediately regretting the question; the thought suddenly washed over him and he felt embarrassment infuse his every pore. "We didn't…"

"Seriously, Draco? No. It is not in my wheelhouse to ravage nearly comatose men. You're only here because you wouldn't tell me where you live now, and I don't know."

"Wouldn't tell you where I lived?"

"Nope. You were very adamant. This was apparently because we were going to take things slow, now that we were back together. You didn't think it was _appropriate_ for me to know where your flat was."

Draco groaned and made his way over to the kitchen table, sitting heavily and dropping his head into his hands. Harry chuckled and pushed a glass of chocolate milk toward him. He took it gratefully, but couldn't quite look at Harry.

"I'm really sorry, Hare. I'd blame Ed, but I feel like maybe I'm a bit too old to be blaming others for my own drunkenness."

"Nothing to apologize for, really," Harry replied, nudging Draco with a socked foot below the table. "I'm quite a fan of Drunk Draco, if you'll recall."

Draco did look at him now, and was relieved to only find humour in his face. Things were still fine. Well, actually, things were still up in the air, confusing and broken, but at least there was no added tensions.

They sat in silence for a moment, Harry organizing papers that presumably had something to do with the DA, Draco drinking his milk and also eating the hard-boiled eggs Harry had given him. It felt so normal, sitting at Harry's kitchen table of a Saturday morning, not speaking, not really even acknowledging each other. It made Draco a bit sad. This is where they would have been for nearly four years now.

If.

"Um," Draco started to speak in a lull in Harry's shuffling. "Concerning Drunk Draco's comments last night. I've been trying to give you space, but…I'm in. If you are, I mean."

Harry cleared his throat, looked at his hands. Draco tried not to hold his breath, determined not to play the Victorian heroine in his own life. It was hard though. He felt like maybe his life _was_ entirely dependent on this moment.

"Well, Draco. I mean…" Harry paused, and it hurt Draco physically for the fraction of a moment that it lasted. "I'm not entirely sure I was ever _out._ "

Draco felt the grin spread across his face before his brain had even registered Harry's sentence as 'good news'.

"Although, Drunk Draco may have had one more good point. Slow," Harry poked Draco's arm to make him look at him. "Slower, might be better, for now."

"I thought we'd already agreed on that. My point is that I don't want 'slow' to involve 'seeing other people'."

"Deal."

"Deal."

Draco stayed for the rest of the afternoon, not really doing anything except existing in the space surrounding Harry. His hangover felt worth it, and he almost turned down the potion Harry handed him half an hour later. He felt alive and free and perfect, and for the first time in two years, he didn't feel the niggling sensation of broken down guilt behind his eyes.

He kissed Harry when he left, with a promise of a real date soon. A real date. He wasn't sure they'd ever done the dating thing properly, and he was determined that they would this time.

-XxXxXxXxXxxXxxXxxxXxXxXxX-

Months and months later, there were discussions with the Gryffindors, questions of why they had decided to let things go so slowly, questions the polar opposite of the questions asked the last time. And just like last time, both Harry and Draco just smiled indulgently and told their friends that they were happy, and that therefore, it really wasn't worth worrying over.

Despite the amount of time Draco spent in Mortecue, he was not living there, even almost two years into their reorganized lives. Harry was healthy, fit and happy, only having a panic attack once every couple of months, usually around the holidays. They were manageable, and they were survivable now. Still, there were moments in the middle of the night when Draco would wake up from a nightmare of the time before, a fear all his own settling into night chills and waking him. He would calm down almost immediately when he found Harry sleeping calmly at his side, but he wasn't sure they would ever both be completely whole. Maybe that was how it was best, though. Neither of them would have wanted perfect, sanitized health. They had been through too much, seen too many dark days; perfection would have been false, more painful than these scars they bore together.

One day, in a quickly waning fall, with a sky threatening rain, they sat together on the pebbly beach of the bay. Draco was reading to Harry, rather against his will. It had started innocently enough, with Draco being appalled that Harry still hadn't read _Frankenstein_. He had apparated home, grabbed his copy, and was back on the beach before Harry could do anything about it. Now, as he lay there, his head on Harry's stomach, reading the horror story as Harry played with his feather soft hair, Harry certainly wasn't complaining. He had, truthfully, become better about reading since school, but he felt like Draco understood archaic language better than he ever would, and with him reading like this, Harry was understanding the story better than he would have if he'd had to read it himself.

_"He sprung from the cabin-window, as he said this, upon the ice-raft which lay close to the vessel. He was soon borne away by the waves and lost in darkness and distance."_

Draco stopped, and Harry looked at him, "What? Keep going."

"That's it. That's the end."

"What? So the monster just goes off on his own and dies? That's fucking sad!"

"Harry, the monster was a murderer."

"Well, yeah, but he was also abandoned and left alone, and didn't understand why he was alive. It's not a fair hand."

"I know. It's a horror story, Harry."

"I thought...you didn't warn me it ended so sadly," Harry was suddenly quite quiet.

Draco sat up suddenly and looked at Harry.

"I'm sorry?"

"You know, it's just…whatever. I don't read sad stories."

"This isn't sad. This is a monster not killing anymore people."

"I know. Sorry, I'm being stupid. Forget it. Thanks for reading it to me. It was good. Weird, but good."

Draco laid back down, squishing just a bit closer to Harry in the process, until their arms were resting together.

"Hey, Harry?"

"Hm?"

"Marry me."

Harry sat up.

"What?"

"Marry me."

"I thought we talked about this?"

"We did."

"So?"

"So. Marry me."

"I…" Harry began. He had been about to start a big long speech, but as soon as he opened his mouth, he realized there was only one word he needed to say. "Okay."

"Okay."

-XxXxXxXxXxxXxxXxxxXxXxXxX-

They didn't have a big wedding. They didn't tell people, and it didn't make the papers. They stood up for each other, the officiant an adorably tiny witch who was too young to fully realise the history she was making. Draco brought his mother. Their friends stood by; all the Weasleys, Neville, Luna. Ed.

When the officiant asked, "Will you do all in your power to support and uphold this marriage?", Ron shouted, "We sort of already have, mate!" before echoing back with the others. There was only laughter, no fear. No panic.

The day passed quietly by the rest of the wizarding world, which confused Harry slightly. How could everyone just be going about their days when the world had so completely shifted?

As the days and the months went by, there was mundane. There were conversations and cups of tea and arguments over quidditch teams. There were new milestones and new anniversaries, and slowly, the bits of their past that had been painful just made them stronger. They would realize that a fight was not worth it because it wasn't on scale with what they'd been through. They would decide things together rather than be divided.

The darkness was finally balanced with the light.

* * *

We watch this slip away

And I watched you fall and break

But instead of finding blame

I'd rather find my way

Home to you.

-Sebastian Kole, _Home_


	9. The Only Constant is Change

**The Only Constant is Change**

Draco grabbed Harry's hand in the corridor and pulled him back, leaning against a wall. Harry mimicked his stance and waited patiently for the freak out to hit.

"Harry, my love, my heart...Did you just agree to adopt _twins_?"

"Yes."

"As in two, not one, but two _separate_ infants."

"Yes."

"As in, two of us- wizards, currently childless, with no experience save the occasional babysitting of our friend's children, living in a dingy flat in Mortecue with _one_ extra room. Those same two men, but with _two_ babies."

"Yes.…although, I feel the need to defend our flat. It's not that dingy. But, uh, I suppose we will have to consider moving at some point."

"Merlin's beard."

"You okay? 'Cuz we haven't left the building. We can go back in there and tell them no."

Draco's pale face looked considerably paler, and he kept scrubbing his face. It was adorable, and in spite of the inappropriate timing, Harry smirked and then could not hold back a laugh.

"Well, I'm glad you find this so amusing," Draco chuffed, although a small smile was now playing at his mouth and some of his colour was back. "I'll remind you of that humour when our two children are sick at the same time…needing school supplies and everything else at _exactly the same time_ , because we suddenly have _twins_."

Harry took Draco's hand again, pulled him off the wall, kissed him, and whispered, "It'll be fine."

-XxXXXxXxXxXxXxXxXXXXxX-

Three months later, that confidence had completely disappeared as he stood in the nursery of the maternity ward, looking down at two- not one, but two- small, wriggling things in the same small cot, calm and clinging to each other with one hand.

"Traditionally," the small nurse beside him whispered, "You name them yourselves when you adopt from hospital. The mother refused to see them, so the names you choose will be their first names…"

Harry looked at Draco. All their pre-planning seemed to have gone completely out the window, and he could tell from the vaguely panicked look on Draco's face that he felt the same way. They had been planning on legacy names, names from their varied and sordid pasts. But suddenly, standing here, looking down at these brand new lives- lives that had not yet felt pain or suffering, that didn't know about death or loss or sadness- Harry understood Ron and Hermione's decision to not name their children after anyone else.

Draco watched the nurse walk away, and whispered, "Harry. They need their own names…"

As though he was in his head, as usual. Harry nodded, "I was just thinking the same thing."

Draco reached over and gently picked up one of the now slightly fussy infants; the baby immediately turned into the touch, and grasped Draco's forefinger. Draco's breath hitched slightly, and his eyes seemed to well even more. Harry was completely enraptured; Draco's face was flooded with love, instant and resolute. Harry recognized the facial expression, used to it being directed at him, but couldn't muster an ounce of jealousy. He knew exactly how Draco felt, and could not fathom it for the life of him. There was no biological tie to this moment for either of them, but they had been immediately and irrevocably changed nonetheless. Just by being here, now.

Draco cleared his throat gently and muttered, "Henry."

"Perfect. Middle name?"

"Dunno...we can work on that. He should probably have a more interesting, archaic middle name…"

Harry laughed, but walked over and picked up the other baby, who was crying slightly now that her brother was not in close contact. She did not go quiet as her brother had at being lifted, but Harry was too happy to read anything into her tears.

"She's Alice," he said, with confidence whose source he could not place.

"Lovely."

"But, her middle name is Violet."

"Well, I don't see why Narcissa, Lily, and Rose shouldn't be in the company of a Violet," Draco said, still staring down at the face of Henry, now sleeping peacefully despite his sister's cries.

"His," Harry added, stepping closer to Draco until their arms touched, both cradling with too much fragility, caution born of lack of practice and slight fear. "Is Rigel."

"Rigel? Why? A bit obscure, don't you think."

"You wanted obscure. Besides which, you can hardly talk _Draco_. Rigel is-"

"The brightest star in Orion. I know. I just…why?"

"It's the first star that catches your eye. It's strong, bright, and the centre of the sky. It's beautiful."

Draco looked at Harry for the first time in minutes, square in the eye, full on and direct, "But it feels wrong, having it be a star. It feels like there's not enough of you in there."

"Draco, that doesn't matter."

"Well, okay. I actually kind of like it."

Draco looked down at the babies again. He smiled.

"We can do this, right?" Harry asked, letting his fear enter his tone for the first time. He felt Draco lean against his arm gently.

"Yes, darling man. We can do this. Welcome to the family, Henry Rigel and Alice Violet. We're pretty excited you are here."

-XxXXXxXxXxXxXxXxXXXXxX -

Another three months, and it was true that, technically, they were _doing_ it; everyone was still alive, relatively well cared for. They were definitely going to have to leave the apartment, sooner rather than later, but for the most part, Harry was blissfully happy.

Well. Okay, mostly. Not right now, if he was honest. Right now, he was dead exhausted, frustrated, and so confused about what to do next that he was close to tears. He paced his now well-worn track around the lounge, rocking and bouncing and trying not to actually join in with the crying.

"Hen, I will make you a deal, okay? You stop crying, just for a few minutes, and I will buy you the fastest broom stick available, every year, for the rest of your life."

"What if he doesn't like to fly?" Draco said, an annoying smirk in his voice as he closed the bedroom door gently.

"Honestly hadn't considered it," Harry replied, looking up.

"Alice is down. I see the same cannot be said for our man here."

"D, I have no idea what is wrong. He's just…not stopping. I don't know if we're supposed to be worried, or…"

"Right. I'm calling her."

"What? No, Draco, don't. We can figure this out."

"I'm sure given five hours and academic study, we could, but I am bloody tired, and you are about to drop our newborn in your own exhaustion, so I'm calling her."

When Hermione appeared on their hearth, she smiled in the most hilarious, nostalgic way possible considering she was entering a room containing a screaming infant, two disheveled and frenzied men, and a very disgruntled cat.

"Ah, brings back memories. Here, give him here."

Harry gratefully handed Hermione Henry's red-faced, clenched-fisted, rigid form, then collapsed on the sofa beside Draco, who scrubbed the back of Harry's neck reassuringly.

Hermione made a couple of shushing noises, but then she flipped Henry onto his stomach and held him in a way that would have immediately terrified Harry, but apparently did not phase Henry, who almost immediately stopped crying. Harry threw his head back against the sofa and exhaled loudly. Henry gurgled once, his head down toward the floor, smiled gently, then closed his eyes. Within three minutes, he was asleep. Hermione didn't stop rocking him gently as she padded to the bedroom. When she emerged a second later, the silence in the room was almost deafening after the hours of wailing. Draco's head was slumped against the arm of the sofa, and Harry's head was in his hands, dragging his hair off his forehead.

"Harry, don't look so anguished. It happens. He's just gassy; you might want to change his formula," Hermione whispered. "Now, both of you, go sleep while they are asleep. And call more often, would you? You really don't need to be doing this all alone. I've been through this two separate times, and you are both saints for doing it twice at the same time, I can promise you."

"'Mione. Thank you."

"Of course. Foundations and rocks, remember?"

"Yeah, course."

"Bed."

-XxXXXxXxXxXxXxXxXXXXxX-

They all made it, with considerable help, through those first few years. The times of trials and impossible things quickly disappeared, and even when they were at their worst, the moments of exciting new things, the watching in wonder, it far outweighed the cost of the hard times.

They moved to a house on the edge of town, with a garden and a hedge wall, and a tire swing that Harry fixed immediately. The type of house he would have grown up in if things had been different. The type of house that he was endlessly happy he could provide his own children with now.

His career decision had been perfect for them all, now, and he took copious amounts of time off when he wanted to in order to be home when the children were sick (and Draco had been right- they usually both ended up sick at the same time), or when their primary school had terrible class plays or curriculum nights. He took them both to every place he had wished he had gone when he was small. There was always laughter and there were always family trips; there were games, and dinners together, and time spent sitting in the garden, just listening to idle, five-year-old twin chatter. There were fights, of course, between Henry and Alice, between Draco and Harry, between any number of combinations in between. But mostly, there was love. And lovely, infinitesimal discoveries of new happy things.

Draco was less aware of these things than Harry was, and after the first year or so with the twins, he stopped pointing them out, because they seemed to cause Draco pain rather than the sheer, unfettered joy that he was feeling; he figured it was because reminding Harry of how shitty his early childhood had been was not exactly helpful to their 'moving on' plan. Especially since Draco's childhood had gone on almost the opposite trajectory. But, when Henry lost his first tooth, and Harry had shoved a galleon under his pillow while he slept, he had wept with happy tears in the kitchen before Draco had woken up. When Alice scraped her knee falling off the swing, he had kissed away the booboo, and taken her to get kitten plasters and a chocolate frog. When they had seen their first play, watching with unreserved excitement, Harry could barely contain his own glee. He reveled in these moments, the moments that he had almost lost.

-xXXxxXXXxXXXxxXx-

Suddenly, the kids were nine, and Harry honestly couldn't say where the time had gone. Hilariously, even though they biologically had had nothing to do with their creation, the twins looked very much like the light and dark contrast of their parents. Alice's soft, feathered blond hair framed her small face, quietly strong and defiant. Draco had learned to handle her hair himself early on, announcing to Harry 'you can't even handle your own hair, you aren't touching our daughter's'. Much like her father, Alice's fair complexion didn't always seem to go with her personality. Alice, in Ron's words, was a spitfire and should have been a red head. She was as stubborn and full of convictions as Harry had always been, and had been since she had first started speaking. She would be formidable someday, if she wasn't already.

Henry, with dark hair and ice blue eyes, was as starkly featured as he was quiet. He was an observer of scenes. Like Draco, he commented only once he knew the score, and made decisions carefully. Whereas Alice would run into the first thing that captured her fancy, Henry would watch, listen, all before carefully selecting the thing he would have chosen first anyway.

Harry couldn't wait for them to start Hogwarts. He _felt_ their magic all around the house, a thing which Hermione said she'd always noticed when the kids were at home, too. Sure, it was different, having them grow up in the Magical World, but they went to Muggle school, and everything had to be done with caution. He wanted them to go to school, and have houses and magical friends, to grow up and yet stay this age for ever. Every year felt like their best year ever, and Harry was worried it was slipping away a little too fast.

This year had begun what Hermione referred to as the 'pre-preteen phase', and Harry was just noticing his little, wriggling children becoming more and more independent. It made him scared and immensely proud all at once, just another in the long line of conflicted emotions that had come with marriage, with parenting.

Draco and Alice were fighting a bit more than usual, and Harry knew it was because he was asserting boundaries before she went away to school, and at the same time, she was pushing back. Draco was terrified that Alice was too much like Harry, and since he knew about literally everything Harry had ever done, he was afraid of what that was to come.

He felt very little shock, therefore, when he walked down their street one day after work, and encountered his daughter, hair drawn back, coat tightly wrapped around her, and a rucksack on her back.

"Alice," he said casually, as though encountering a mere acquaintance. But she jumped, like Draco might have done, and he had to suppress a laugh. There was so much of both of them here. Nature be damned; these were his kids.

"Dad! You scared me."

"Headed out?"

"I'm.…" Alice stuttered. She raised her chin and Harry waited for the steely resolve he knew was coming. "I am running away."

"I see. Any particular reason?"

"Because Baba is being utterly unreasonable. Again!"

Harry smiled; he wasn't sure how much longer the name separation thing was going to last. The other day, he had heard Alice say 'dad, no other dad' to one of her school friends. It felt like the days of 'baba' might be numbered; he'd have to warn Draco. Sure, the name had never made sense, born largely of Henry's inability to say 'p' when he was little, and not some deep seeded Arabic familial connection. But still.

He looked at Alice seriously.

"Ah...fair enough. Well, mind how you go. Did you pack some food?"

"Yes."

"And warm socks?"

"Yes.

"So, you're all set. Hey, Al…"

"You can't stop me, Dad."

"No, I wasn't going to. I mean, it's up to you if you want to run away, but Al…were you just going to leave Henry behind?"

Alice looked up at him, clearly a bit taken a back. She cleared her throat, "Henry'll be fine."

"Will he? Who is going to speak up for him when he's too shy? And who is going to check under your bed when you're scared on the run?"

Alice looked down, "You can't trick me, Dad. I…I'm nine. You can't trick me."

"Okay!" Harry said brightly. "I'll make sure I tell Henry you said he'd be fine."

Alice sighed deeply and looked up at Harry, before turning on her heel, taking his hand, and starting to walk with him toward the house.

"So, wanna tell me what Baba did that was so unreasonable?"

"He won't let me take horseback riding with Abigail this term."

"You want to take horseback riding?"

"Yes.…I LOVE horses!"

This was news to Harry, but he figured it was likely because Alice had only LOVED horses for approximately 48 hours.

"Can you make him let me, Dad?"

"You know, Al, he only said no because he wants to make sure you really want to do this; you know if you start, he's going to make you take it until the end of term. How could you convince him that you really, really want to?"

Alice went silent for the rest of the walk, and screamed, "HENRY RIGEL. MEETING, NOW!" the second they got inside.

Draco was standing by the island with a mug of tea, and simply quirked an eyebrow.

"She was running away. Horses?"

"Oh, mhmm…apparently."

"Should we maybe just let her? It's just a new thing."

"There's always new things, Hare. There has to be a line."

"Why? She's nine. What if she's just looking for something she loves?"

"Such a sap, you," Draco said as Harry looped his arms over his shoulders, kissing his neck and stealing his tea.

"Yup."

"Stop," Draco said, squirming away. "You're freezing. So we let her ride horses?"

"Not yet. She's going to convince you."

"What?" Draco laughed. "How?"

"No idea."

After dinner, Henry cleared up, carefully stacking dishes beneath the cleaning charm that Draco set for him with a lazy wand flick. Harry sat, tired but content, eying Alice carefully. She was fidgeting, which was never a good sign. He smirked, and waited. On his last trip back to the table, Henry very pointedly cleared his throat.

"Oh! Right! Now?"

Henry nodded, then walked quickly out of the room.

Alice stood up, cleared her throat, and put on what he was pretty sure was supposed to be her 'adult' voice before saying, "Okay. Baba. Dad. I, Alice Violet Potter-Malfoy, am going to prove to you that I want to Horseback ride. Oh, and Henry's going to help. If you will follow me."

Draco looked at Harry, but they followed Alice into the living room. Where they found Henry on all fours, in a cardboard stable, a yarn tail and a mop for a mane. Harry had to stifle a laugh as Alice very seriously explained all the things she knew about horses. And then explained how much muggle money the lessons would cost. And how she was going to stay in the course until the very end of term, even if she hated it more than she hated Aunt Andromeda's pea casserole.

She finished quietly and looked not to Harry, who she knew she did not actually need to convince, but at Draco. Her piercing green eyes melted slowly as he smiled broadly at her. Harry had no idea how Draco managed to resist giving her anything, which, he supposed, was how Draco had ended up in the role as bad cop. He would have felt guilty if he hadn't known that Draco liked being seen as the strict one, while at the same time, privately gushing to Harry about how proud he was of both their children. He was as big a sap as Harry, underneath the cold, pure-blood shell. Harry shuddered to think what Draco would be like without the warmth and the love that he also threw at Alice and Henry. But then, he supposed he already knew; Draco, after all, was nothing like Lucius.

Still, later, when they are in bed, Harry can't help bringing it up one more time.

"So. She can ride horses?"

"Yeah, I guess so. I'm totally telling you 'I told you so' the second she wants to quit in the winter, though."

"She seems pretty adamant this time."

"She always does. And you always fall for it. I don't know why you're so easy on her and so hard on Henry."

"Same reason you're so hard on Alice and so easy on Henry. She's my favourite."

"You are not supposed to have favourite children."

"And everyone knows that's bullshit. I love them both equally, but that doesn't mean I don't have a favourite. I can't wait to see if they end up in the same houses at school. Fred and George were so similar. Our twins don't seem similar enough to be in the same house."

"Harry. I've, er, been meaning to talk to you about that. School. Ed and I were talking a few months back, and I started thinking, that..."

"Draco, I hate when you get all...reticent. It is extremely worrying."

"Ugh, I knew that 'word a day' calendar was a bad idea. Okay. I've been thinking...maybe we should send the kids abroad. For school."

"Abroad? As in, not Hogwarts."

"Generally, that is my meaning, yes. France, specifically. They can see Paris. We can visit during breaks, or they can come home. I mean, we're wizards, it's not as though it would be difficult."

"No."

"Harry-"

"No, Draco. I'm not sending them somewhere else. They're going to Hogwarts, where we know the grounds and the customs, and we can help them if we need to, and where their friends and cousins will be. I'm not separating them from that. How can you want that?!"

Harry was aware that he was shouting. He was also aware that he was shaking.

"Harry, calm down. You're going to get yourself a panic. It was just an idea. I've been thinking about how hard is going to be to be at Hogwarts carrying our last names. I just thought maybe a fresh start would do them good."

"Yeah, well, I don't."

"Okay, then. You didn't need to shout at me to explain that."

"Think of how much they'd miss, Draco. Houses and the hidden passages and Honeydukes."

"But there's nothing to say that they wouldn't get that, or better, at another school. Nostalgia is clouding your judgement. Because at Hogwarts, they are also going to get preconceptions about me. Grief about you...You are still famous after all. What if we just gave them a fresh start? Wasn't that the goal, a decade ago? To give them their own futures?"

"Not like that. I don't want to discuss this."

"Too bad. I want to discuss this, and since you have a say, you must also discuss this. Do you have any actual reasons beyond 'it's not Hogwarts"?"

Harry glared at Draco. His hands felt clammy, and was starting to shake. He was mad, because Draco was right. The shouting had started to send him into a panic and he didn't know what to do about it other than to finish this conversation now so that he didn't have to have it again

"Yes, Draco. I have actual reasons. First, they are English. They are going to be foreigners who don't really speak the language. I mean, Henry's French is passable, but Aly can't carry on a conversation. Sure, they'd likely learn, but do we want them to have to? Second, they'd be in gendered classrooms. I don't want Alice in that for High school. Or Hen for that matter. And they'd be away from all their wizarding friends. Plus, I _do not_ want them staying with Ed, _ever._ With his women and booze and not sleeping? Living like that at his age is not what I want our soon to be teenagers experiencing. And I know you. We'd never make it up on weekends, and then we would spend the whole of actual holiday breaks with me exploring with the kids, and you catching up with Ed- code, of course, for drinking yourself silly. Absolutely not. Besides, their whole lives, I have been imagining them in the castle. Getting sorted. Climbing those stairs. The owlry. I think you are making a bigger deal of the whole war history than the kids will. Our children are strong. You aren't giving them enough credit."

Draco didn't respond immediately. Instead he sat, staring at the crack in the ceiling of their room that he'd been meaning to fix for ages.

"What if they get bullied. Because of me. Because of my family."

Harry slumped a bit. Just like Draco to make him get angry before just explaining his real motives.

"Do you really think that Alice Violet Malfoy Potter would allow that to happen? I half expect we will spend the first two weeks of their first year in the Headmistresses office."

"Well...If you think they'll be fine. Can we ask them? Does that make any sense?"

"Sure. Probably fair. No one ever bothered to ask either of us. But ultimately, I think we have to decide."

Draco smirked, bolstered by the fact that Harry seemed to have relaxed a bit.

"I suppose it would be unfair to stop them from seeing the glory of the Slytherin common room."

"I reckon they'll both be Ravenclaw, actually."

"Sacrilege! Fine. If they want to, they can go to Hogwarts. I suppose I should have anticipated that reaction."

"You'd think, after all this time. But you never learn."

"I learn. I just forget how stubborn you actually are. Bastard."

"You love it. You'd hate not being challenged on every decision."

"Unfortunately for me, I feel you may be right."


	10. Perfect Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is it. I think maybe this fic always had a plan all it's own. Make it this far? I'd love a review ;) 

* * *

It counted up our feelings...And divided them up even...And it called our calculation

**Perfect love**

_-Regina Spektor_

* * *

The blur that hit them all a few years later, of course, felt nothing like the horses. Harry would wind up longing for the horse argument the August the twins got their letters. The Hogwarts argument felt like a very small blip when Draco saw the faces of his children, swathed in excitement as they unravelled parchment printouts from Headmaster Mcgonagall. Of course, he _could_ have argued that they would have been just as excited with letters from any wizarding school. He could have argued that school was school, the promise of freedom and magic in school and new adventures would have been the same no matter where they went. He could have pointed this all out. He did not.

It became clear to Draco almost immediately that Harry was stressed. That this was going to be a very difficult time. Perhaps the most difficult thing they had faced since _Before_. Draco tried to be silent in his support. He only reached out and offered a hand in comfort when he felt Harry wake in a panic beside him in the middle of the night. He took the kids to the cinema when he saw Harry having a bad day.

But, he also knew that he and Harry would have time after to deal with whatever the fallout ended up being, and so he also forced Harry to participate. Draco made him come to Diagon for the shopping. He made Harry choose owls for each of the kids. He made him be present and a part of this last chunk of time where their children were truly theirs. Harry didn't know, really, how much going away to school changed family relationships. He hadn't experienced it, and so he thought he knew what it was going to be like, but he didn't. Not really. Which was fine, but Draco didn't want him regretting this time by missing out on their last summer as truly _their_ children.

Suddenly, trunks were packed, last suppers on the beach were had, trips to London undertaken, and fearful platform conversations were had. Even after all this time, they both commented on how strange it was to not be on the steamer as it pulled out of the station, as they waved until they could no longer even see the black caboose. Eventually, Draco pulled Harry off the nearly empty platform, and they both got horrendously drunk at the house.

Draco was already nostalgic.

That had been last week. Last week, the empty house and hollow silence had felt new and exhilarating, missing for 11 years and suddenly feeling very hard won. This week, though, the novelty had worn off, and Draco had simultaneously gotten very ill. So pedestrian, having the flu. It could have at least been Dragon pox.

It was Wednesday, and Draco had been off work for three days. He'd slept most of this morning, but he still felt pretty awful and was now garishly awake. Awake and miserable and bored. Desperate, he had owled Harry at the DA. And instantly regretted it. It wasn't like him, to be needy and dependent. It felt pretty crappy, and he almost sent another owl telling Harry to ignore his desperate plea for company.

He'd fretted and regretted, until Harry had shown up an hour later with a carrier bag, and a rye expression on his face. As Harry stood over him looking slightly concerned, but mostly amused, Draco took in the lightly lined face of increasing wisdom. He saw the sensible new glasses he still wasn't sure he liked, the greying sideburns, receding only noticeably to Draco because he knew every inch of that face. And suddenly, his regret was suffused with relief and love and confusion as to how he could still be so in love, how he could still need Harry this much. Even after all this time.

The feeling made him smile weakly.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to be so needy, but I have to say, I am strangely and extremely happy you are here."

"It's okay, love. Makes a nice change, a nice role reversal. Besides, you haven't been sick enough take time off since...Merlin, I don't even remember."

"Twins were two."

"Christ. How are you feeling?"

"Like shit, to be honest."

"Well, luckily, I've been an extremely cliched husband and brought you three different soups, and that ridiculously overpriced tea you like. I also bought _When Harry Met Sally_ , partly because I know you are a giant sap about Meg Ryan, but mostly because it made me laugh when I saw it. I can't believe I haven't been calling you 'Sally' for years. The nickname is right there."

"Well, you can't start now. Thanks, though. Can you...can you stay?"

"Yup. It's Ollie's evening, so I just bunked off a few hours early. Owner perks," Harry had said, winking. The flirting of their youth kept make Draco laugh, and stupidly happy.

Harry hadn't ever had to work too hard to turn him on, but this ridiculously overt affection and double entendre kept making Draco blush like a teenager. Harry had always been the one to flirt first, but he'd toned it down as they'd grown older. Understandably, appropriately. But now? It had reappeared sometime in the last month, likely as Harry panicked about what their new/old lives would look like. He hadn't said anything, but Draco knew Harry well enough to know that he was worried; worried that the kids being gone would destroy their relationship. That they would be like so many 'empty nesters' and be unable to recover from the drastic change. Draco knew better. He was as in love, as enamored, as amazed at Harry as he had been since the second time they had started their lives together.

Draco smiled at the wink, and tried to look appealing as he replied.

"Good, come watch it with me."

"So needy," Harry sighed, already kicking off his shoes, then lying down next to Draco, snuggling close and drawing Draco's arm across his body.

"You'll get sick too," he half protested, trying not to let his comfort show.

"I've already got it, if I'm going to get it. And more importantly, you have 'snuggle me' written all over your face," Harry said, stroking Draco's hair out of his eyes as he shivered. "Did you take something? Pretty sure you have a fever."

Draco didn't say anything, just put his head on Harry's chest and let his achy body melt into the comfort of familiarity and _right_ and _perfect_ as Harry wandlessly put the film on. Draco loved this movie, but he could barely keep his body on the surface of consciousness. He was full of the knowledge that this new change wouldn't matter like it did for some couples.

The thing that was _Harry-and-Draco_ had survived much more difficult trials.

-xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx-

Harry would remind Draco of this statement four years later, when at the age of fifteen, Alice brought home a Muggle named Terrance from the horse camp she still insisted on going to every summer. During dinner, Draco had been perfectly civil, and not at all creepy. He'd even managed to keep the magic under wraps.

The calmness vanished the second that Alice and 'Terry' left for a film in town.

"A MUGGLE?"

"Draco-"

"She isn't even old enough to be dating!"

"D, she's fifteen."

"But a MUGGLE? How can you be okay with this."

"Because I am. Lots of people we know are muggles."

"What if they have muggle _children_?"

"Draco! He's her first boyfriend. Calm down."

-xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx-

He had grumbled and muttered, but he had _tried_ to calm down. He'd calmed down for the first year that his daughter dated Terry 'long distance'. He'd kept calm for the next two years as well. He'd kept relatively calm as Alice finished her O.W.L.s with decent marks, and left school.

He managed to stay civil, and help her as she went to the ministry for a release of the Secrecy Act for Terry. He had stayed calmer than Terry had when she had revealed that she was a witch, and even answered as many of the boy's questions as he could. He thought he'd been pretty calm about the whole thing, really.

Calm, that is, until Alice had wandered into the house one day the spring she was 18 and announced that she was engaged to Terry, that she wanted to marry him in the garden. In three months.

Then he had become distinctly _not_ calm.

"Harry!" Draco had listened to the entire speech Alice had prepared, but was confused as to why he was now the only angry one. He whipped around to face his husband, "Why on earth are you just standing there!? Say something!"

"Does seem a bit unnecessary, darling. You are both so young. Why not live together? What's the rush?"

"That is not what I meant!" Draco shouted. "You are absolutely not marrying that man. You are EIGHTEEN!"

But Alice shrugged and looked only at Harry, "Dad, I love him. Why should I wait? You and Ba know that better than most people, I think. Why delay happiness?"

"Alice, why don't you give me and your Ba a few minutes. It's really just a bit of a shock, Aly. Just a minute, hey? Henry is in the garden."

As she walked out, Draco reeled on Harry in what was an extremely predictable way.

"You cannot be serious? We are not allowing this."

"Sure we are. First of all, she's Alice. We say no, she'll just get married without us there, which I know you don't want. Secondly, she's almost 19. She's not rushing into it or anything. They've been together ages. Lastly...she loves him. If anyone had tried to stop us, especially the second time, would we have listened? Think about it honestly, D."

Draco sighed,"No."

"Exactly. I don't want to lose her over something so trivial. It is either going to be perfectly fine, or it will crash and burn, and a few years of wisdom isn't going to change that. Lots of people marry young. Lots of people stay happily married. There is no reason the two can't be connected. You'll get used to it, and you _will_ be happy for them, Draco, so help me. Besides, she'll want you to walk her down the aisle."

"What, no she won't...she'd obviously want you. Why would you say that?"

Harry shrugged,"You're her favourite. She told me once, ages ago."

Draco looked out the kitchen window, into the garden where their two no-longer-children children were laughing and fighting over the swing. He hung his head at the weird, incongruous familiarity of it all. He sighed again.

"Shit. Is this it? Are we done? Are they fully formed people now and that's it? I'm just supposed to sit by and watch them do things, make choices. I just have to deal with it all, from now on?"

Harry laughed, "Always the melodrama. _You_ rang your mother last week to ask how to re-pot a lilac. We'll never be done, D. We just have to let them try the next steps on their own, and be there for when it doesn't work."

They stood side by side in silence for a moment longer. Draco tried to piece together his reasons, the way he always insisted the rest of his family should. He couldn't quite get past the only reason being that his little girl was _his_ , and not someone elses, not yet. But that wasn't really enough, and even he was realising it now. He stepped into Harry's embrace, forcing him to wrap his arms around Draco's shoulders in a practised way so he didn't fall over.

He sighed one last time, but vowed to put the melodrama away as he said, "Oh fine...even I have to admit he isn't a bad bloke. For a muggle. Plus, he didn't run when she turned his mug into a mouse, so maybe that's a sign of something."

"That's the spirit."

"How old was she? When she said I was her favourite?"

"Don't remember...seven? Maybe eight?"

"Bet you it was after the mum thing."

"Possibly. I'm proud of you Draco. This really hasn't taken you as long as it should have to get over. I think we've both become soft in our old age."

"Speak for yourself. I am as young and springy and stubborn as I was when I was 20."

"Lies and falsehoods. You are a mushy pile of emotional baggage and _feelings,_ and you shall never fool me. You _loooove us_. You want the _beeest_ for us."

"Yeah, yeah. Fine. Just don't tell people."

-xXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx-

Which is how, almost 25 years to the day after her Dad married her Baba, Alice was married. On the beach, seven days after her 19th birthday. It felt strange, being married, dress and all. Not that she wasn't pleased, or ready, or happy. But it did feel strange. The party had been good fun, combining a bewildered half of Terry's family and her own, slightly moshed family of sorts, who had done their best to heed the request for no wizard-y shenanigans, and had somehow managed to be more ridiculous for it.

The party had turned into such a wonderful kerfuffle that she had asked Terry if they could stay, rather than head to the city that night. She'd been prepared to beg, but he'd acquiesced immediately, in large part because he was clearly concerned about what happened if they left the two families alone together.

It was now quite late, and Henry was drunk. She had been dispatched to the gazebo at the end of the garden to deal with this fact, and was glad she got there when she did.

"Henry! Get down. What on earth are you doing?"

"You know, Leecy, when I am very rich, I shall see the fanciest show on the west end. I shall sit in a box and wear a tux, and I shall order oysters. I shall also carry on. I shall carry on so much that they ask me to leave because no matter how rich I am, I am distracting the actors and causing danger," Henry flourished gracefully before hopping down from the rails.

"Strictly speaking," Alice replied, sitting down on the step. "I'm pretty sure we already are rich."

"Dads are. That's not the same. Besides, that's wizard rich. It doesn't count."

"It probably would, you know. If you converted it."

"Alice, do you ever think that our lives have been very strange?"

"What, because we have two dads?"

"No, no. Because we have _our_ two dads. Famous and all the stories and stuff, especially Ba."

"I've never really noticed."

This wasn't strictly true. Not really. Alice had been noticing for a very long time that their lives were very strange. There had been the initial realization, way back when at primary school. When Horrible Claire had pointed out that she didn't have a mummy, and that meant she was an orphan. They had been reading _The Witches,_ so she knew what that meant. Even at 7, the irony had not been lost on her that a book that had it so wrong would be the way he realised she was adopted.

She'd run all the way home in tears, where Ba had been the only one in the house. He'd made cocoa, and pulled her into his arms in the big red chair, and stroked her head until she calmed down. Then he'd told her that story, of how he and daddy had been blessed to care for them a little better than their first mummy, and how there was no way for them to be orphans, because even if something happened to him and daddy, they had so many people who would love them. Auntie Gin and Uncle E. Auntie Hermione and Uncle Ron. Even Uncle Neville and Aunt Luna. They were her family, too. And they would always take take care of her and Henry. She had fallen asleep, and never again worried about not having a mum.

Later, when she fought with him, she would remember that afternoon, and hold onto it, cherish it. Ba was not always affectionate, but he loved them, all of them, and she knew. That's how she could ignore the rumors, the stories and the whispers about her parents, about her last names. It was sometimes bad, and occasionally, dangerous, but she knew they were always safe, because they had _Potter_ and _Malfoy_ to call whenever they needed. The stories should have scared her; instead, they taught her how brave both her parents had always been, how strong they could be.

Alice was about to remind Henry of this story, but he had already moved on.

"Has Dad told you the story yet? Of how he almost died?" Henry all but whispered.

Alice just sighed. Henry was always tangential. It was good to know it got worse when he drank.

"We all know that story, dinkbrains. There was a _war_."

"Not that time. The other time, when he was first with Ba. He was depressed."

"Wait, what? No. Don't tell me. I'll ask him myself."

"I can't believe you are leaving me, Alice."

"I'm not leaving you, don't be so dramatic."

"Fine, but it won't be the same. What'll I do without you?"

"Whatever you like, Henny Penny."

"I'm going to go to London."

"Okay?"

"I AM! I want to study law."

"What, muggle law? Bo-ring. Why?"

"Dunno, really. Except, I kinda want to do what Ba does, only he's always complaining that he wished he knew more Muggle law basics to help him. I think it sounds fun."

"No it doesn't. You'll have to...use a computer and write with biros, and go to a university with people who don't know Quidditch. That sounds awful. Besides, how are you going to get in? You finished muggle school in Year six. "

"McGonagall helped me write my A levels in my last term of sixth year. Before the O.W.L.s. I didn't do too badly, either. I could get in."

Alice eyed her brother, who was now sat beside her. He seemed genuinely serious, if still a bit glassy eyed and swaying. "Blimey. Henry. You really are a frigging genius. How come I shared a womb with you and got none of that?"

"You got all the people skills."

"Have you told them yet?"

"No. I was going to tell them when I got my results back, but then _someone_ had to go and get engaged."

"They aren't going to like it. London is evil, remember?"

"Oh, whatever. Dad still works in the city, and Ba is only out here now because the ministry transferred him to keep an eye on the regional office. They're hypocrites."

"I'll let you tell them that."

Henry sighed, "It feels like the end of an era. Us telling them things separately."

"God, you're awfully morose today."

"You look beautiful, Leecy. Really. I'm happy, for both of you."

"Thanks, HRP."

"Ugh, no. We've talked about that. No initials. That's such a...Dad thing."

Alice laughed, and dragged him by back to the garden tent, where things were still in full party mode. The old people were still dancing unashamedly to some ancient Weird Sisters ballad. Rose, with her baby balanced carefully, was cringing at her parents; Uncle Ron was spinning Aunt Hermione around and around, and she was laughing like a teenager. Her Dad was holding onto Ba for dear life; they were clearly drunk, and therefore clinging embarrassingly to each other.

Alice grinned across at Rose, and sat beside her, touching the soft peach fuzz of a sleeping Holly.

"Sorry about them. You know how they get," She said, gesturing to the dance floor.

Alice sat back lightly, and laughed.

"You know, Rose, I know it isn't exactly 'cool' to say it, but..I really love them, you know?"

As she said it, Ron had grabbed Draco's hand and spun the four of them, plus Uncle Nev and Auntie Lu into a tight circle, as they all screamed the final chorus

"Yeah, Al," Rose smiled back. "I think I do know."

Grinning, Alice grabbed her cousin's hand, and dragged her and the baby behind her as she joined the circle of their family.

* * *

_All Was Well. Finite Incantatem._


End file.
